


Dreams in Fiction

by Pinkmink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BDSM, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Doctor Castiel, Dreams, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Dean Winchester, Pining, Season/Series 12, Smut, hunter husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-08-22 23:10:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8304820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmink/pseuds/Pinkmink
Summary: “I’ve been having these dreams,” Dean said, lowering his voice as if the two occupants in the next room could potentially hear him through the floral wallpapered walls. “About, uh, Cas.”Mary, bless her, had the good sense to know how easy it would be to spook her son in this moment, so she just blinked her eyes and was quiet, waiting for him to continue.“He, uh,” he swallowed. “I don’t think it’s him, really. It doesn’t seem like him. Or it is him, just different versions of him?”“Is he hurting you, Dean?” Her voice was delicate, like she was stepping out onto a frozen lake, cautious of the thickness of the ice.“Hurting me? No, no - nothing like that.”“Nothing like that?” she repeated, an inflection to her voice, an eyebrow raised. “Nothing like that,” he confirmed dejectedly and turned away, staring back up at the ceiling, now taking great interest in the water stain puckered in the popcorn.“Oh,” she breathed, letting the information settle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This largely came about because when it comes to AU fanfiction, I have a million ideas - but little patience for world building. It started as a hiatus fic but now that the season has started, it will be canon divergent.
> 
> This story has been lovingly beta'd by the amazingly talented rosie_berber, who also provided the artwork and actively encourages all of my madness.

 

**Chapter One**

 

“ _Praise the lord, and pass the ammunition!_ ” a drunk blond half-sang, half-screeched from the stage, legs hopping and hands tightly pressed around a microphone. “ _Need a little bit more of my twelve ounce nutrition!_ ”

“I think she’s had enough nutrition.” Sam said with a half smile, leaning over and having to yell the chaste joke into Dean’s ear. Damn, it was loud in this bar.

“ _One more helpin’ of what of what I’ve been having - I’m taking my turn on the sin wagon!_ ” Dropping the mic with an audible pop she shimmied, her double d-cups nearly spilling from a tight black tank top. Country was hardly the sort of music you shimmied to, but let’s be honest - no one in the whole bar was mad about the way her breasts danced under the dim stage lights.

“I think she’s had just the right amount, Sammy!” Dean laughed, lifting the last of his beer to his lips. Sure the woman had very little talent in the way of singing or dancing, and her taste in music was questionable, at best. But she certainly seemed to have an adequate amount of experience at getting people to watch her more prominent assets, and Dean was nothing if not appreciative of them.

“Yeah, I guess she’s your type.” Sam rolled his eyes, turning back to polish off his own beer. The bar they’d found themselves in was dirty, loud and crowded - not at all what they’d expect to find in a rural town in Iowa. But seeing as it was the only gig around, and they were low on booze, wasting a few hours with the local color wasn’t going to kill them. And besides, Castiel had never been to a karaoke bar before - an experience Dean had insisted was important to understanding humanity. What he hadn’t banked on was not only that Cas would enjoy it - he’d try to join in on the fun himself.

“He’s been gone a while - you think he got lost?” Dean called out, trying to avoid sounding like a mother hen. The fact was, in wild social situations like this, Cas had a tendency to run on the wrong side of a burly biker or a daddy-issued stripper, and he’d rather avoid that confrontation when possible. Though it had been a fair amount of time since Dean had hit something human, and just the thought brought a spark of thrill. Sometimes he wondered if that masochistic side he’d seen in hell had ever really become dormant….

“He’s a big boy, Dean.” Sam belched lightly as the song came to an end and for a blissful moment, the room was about 75% quieter. It felt like his ears sighed in relief. “But I’m feeling pretty damn old - I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“Before the main event?” Dean poked him in the stomach, grinning at the uncomfortable face his brother made. That last beer had been his fourth, and at this point in his alcohol tolerance, Sam was far more likely to get full than to get drunk. It almost made Dean proud, how far his alcoholism had come since his chaste Stanford days.

“I’m pooped, man. I’m sure you’ll cheer Cas on enough for the both of us.” Sam smirked, his mind decided. They’d all walked to the bar earlier from their hotel, about a half mile up the road - so he could leave whenever he wanted. “I’ll see you guys when you’re done.”

“Fine, fine, Sammy. Miss the voice of an angel - your loss.” He patted his brother solidly on the arm as he left, turning to raise a finger at the gruff bartender for another beer. Watching the golden liquid foam against the chilled glass, he could hardly blame Sam for turning in early - they’d spent their day trapping vamps and while something in Dean felt very settled and satisfied from that sort of work, he knew it didn’t have quite the same effect on his brother.

He was so lost in thought he almost jumped as Castiel was suddenly at his side, shoulders risen and tense. The familiar quip about that damn bell he's always promising to put on the angel rushed to Dean’s lips, but then he remembered he could hardly hear himself think in this place, let alone talk.

“He returns,” Dean said. “You pick out a song?”

“That was a very comprehensive list of music, Dean,” Castiel shouted above the high, off-pitched singing of two women trying to not fall all over each other with their rendition of “I Kissed a Girl”.

“Well? Don’t leave me hanging!”

To this, Castiel actually released some of the tension, taking a deep breath. He raised a hand to get the bartender's attention, turning to Dean over his arm. “It’s a surprise.”

If nothing else, this angel always keeps Dean guessing. He opened his mouth to protest, but seeing as Castiel was now ordering 15 shots of whiskey, there were more pressing matters to attend to.

“What the hell, Cas?”

The angel shrugged. “I know my tolerance - these should be sufficient to make me drunk enough to have the courage to get on the stage.”

“I thought you wanted to do this?” Well hell, the point of the night was to kick back and relax - he hadn’t meant for Castiel to feel pressured into participating. He sure as shit wasn’t going to set foot on that stage - too many demon memories with Crowley and, well, he wasn’t about to open that Pandora’s box of nope.

Castiel was thoughtful, looking down where the bartender was smirking, setting out fifteen shot glasses. Sadistic bastard - he doesn’t know he’s serving an angel of the Lord - that amount of booze could outright kill a normal man.

“I do. This is a human experience that I would like to have done - but I’m nervous.” He somehow managed to sound shy despite the volume of his voice. The slow buzz that was building in Dean made him feel slightly bolder than usual, and he placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder as the angel picked up the first shot, placing it to his lips.

“You’ll be great.” Dean smiled, the comfort sounding strange even to him. He was rewarded with a warm look from Castiel as he swallowed the first shot of whiskey, his adam’s apple bobbing, and suddenly Dean was very glad that he’d been so comforting.

Shot after shot Cas plowed through, drawing a little attention from the crowd. By the last one they were cheering him on, and Dean stopped the proceedings briefly to order one for himself to drink along Cas’s last. They threw their heads back together, and Dean winced as the cheap liquid scorched down his throat. He pushed a breath out that felt more like fire, letting his head fall and glancing at Castiel with a broad grin. The crowed erupted, but for a heated moment, they were the only two people in the room.

Woah - maybe he’d had a little too much already….

“Feel better?” he remarked, breaking the gaze and turning back to his very interesting beer.

“Much,” Cas growled.

Dean’s eyes bore holes in the opposite wall as he tried desperately to not look at the source of that growl. Jesus, there was a raw omnipotence in that man’s voice that just shot something directly to Dean’s gut. He told himself it was because he knew the actual power of his voice - how it could kill everyone in this room with the snap of his fingers. But the reality is, that gravely tone made him want to surrender, to be on his knees, to be….

Yeah, ok - too much booze.

Lady Double-D from earlier had made her way to the bar and was quite literally squeezing herself next to Dean. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye - certainly not his type and well, frankly, she looked better from farther away. But it was a very female, very welcome distraction, and he turned to her with that sly Winchester charm.

“So, you’re a Dixie Chick.” He planted on a cheesy grin that he was sure she’d see right through. “I’m more of a Ramblin’ Man myself.”

Luckily it appeared her beer goggles were fully strapped on, and she giggled. And as much as he wanted it to, even her smile didn’t make her more appealing.

“Next up is...Ca- Cas-teal? Cast-ielle?” The announcer called out, and Dean turned back to his friend who’d been watching his pathetic attempt at flirting. His expression as unreadable as their eyes met, and then a look of panic spread across his face.

“That’s you!” Dean shooed, turning the angel’s body and giving him a gentle shove. “Good luck!”

He watched the tan trenchcoat disappear into the crowd, and he almost felt sorry for the guy - if he hadn't felt so darn proud of him. Dean had a tendency to become stagnant in routine, as he’s really been living the same existence since he was four - hunting, driving, moving. Not really experiencing the fullest extent of life. Nearly everything he did was to fulfill a base need. He ate because he was hungry, he hunted because that’s all he knew. He tried to pick up bar floozies just to keep the pipes clean. But Cas - he saw the infinite wonder of humanity. Looking at life through the angel’s eyes was enlightening, and Dean had to admit he loved having him around. Well, admit to himself at least. Never out loud and certainly not to the the angel himself.

The stage was very small, and Castiel has never in his life looked more like a fish out of water. Dean fought the urge to rush and yank him off of it, instead cheering with the rest of the crowd encouragingly.

The music started and - wait, what? The Doors?

_“You know that it would be untrue, you know that I would be a liar, if I was to say to you, boy we couldn’t get much higher.”_

_“Come on baby, light my fire.”_

Dean didn’t know what was more surprising - the fact that Cas knew who the Doors were, or the fact that his low register somehow managed to sing it well. It appeared that Castiel had at least some point rehearsed this, or maybe this was a favorite song of his? Dean felt a twinge of guilt - he’s terrible about asking Cas questions like that. A simple “Hey dude, what are you listening to lately?” would probably go a long way to making him feel more accepted, heard, appreciated - loved.

_“The time to hesitate is through, no time to wallow in the mire - try now we can only lose, and our love become a funeral pyre.”_

_“Come on baby, light my fire”_

Is - is Cas looking at him? A heated blue gaze locked with his from across the room and his heart sped up. It was almost as if he was singing directly to him except - he must be singing to someone else? Dean broke the gaze to look all around him, but Dixie Chick had long since found another unfortunate victim and the closest person to him was a portly, older man yelling at the bartender for another damn rum and coke.

He turned back as Castiel continued to sing, the women in the room swooning and cheering as he became more comfortable on the stage. He had not stopped staring his direction (which Dean was pretty sure at this point was meant for him) and as their eyes met again, he winked.

Castiel winked.

At Dean.

_“Come on baby, light my fire.”_

Dean’s throat ran dry as he shifted, trying to fight the way his body very enthusiastically reacted to an incredibly simple gesture. Castiel finally looked away, shifting his eyes across the room and smiling, a cheeky, cocky smile. Who was this?

He suddenly had a flashback, standing in a corner and watching Castiel hungrily devour Meg’s lips in a dark room. The way he’d grabbed her roughly, shoving her into a wall, hands gripping hair, face - pushing against her neck. It was nothing like the meek, dorky angel that he buddied around with. But that version of Cas was on the stage right now, moving slowly like a cat, working the room like he owned it. And it was, God help him, the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

Dean took a sharp breath of stale, heated air as the song ended, trying to refocus as he watched Castiel return the mic to the announcer who looked as if she might faint on the spot as he approached her. Dean had to empathize with her - he was feeling pretty light headed himself.

_Get it together, Winchester._

Castiel endured many pats on the back and praises as he made his way back towards the bar. The grin he wore split his face, and Dean’s grip on the last of his beer tightened as he felt Castiel’s approach. He turned away before he became lost in that gaze again.

“Hey - good job buddy.” Dean croaked out, wishing for once that another song would start blasting to hide the strain in his voice. But the announcer had decided it was time for a break - likely because the entire room was swimming in endorphin's and sex.

“Did you like it?” Castiel asked, and dammit, why did Dean even look because Jesus, this man was a sight to behold. Ruffled, his hair tousled and glowing with a sheen of sweat. Breathless and toothy. Looking, Dean was sure, exactly how he looks after he-

“I mean, don’t quit your day job!” Dean barked, sounding harsher than he wanted to but effectively stopping his own train of thought. Castiel’s smile fell.

“Of course, Dean. I enjoyed myself, but I’d never let singing take priority over hunting with you and Sam.”

Well now, that’s not how he wanted this to go. He’s flustered, sure, but he didn’t want his friend to feel bad about his performance. “No, dude I mean, ya, you did great. Really.”

His voice still didn’t sound very convincing, and glancing at Cas out of the corner of his eye, it didn't look like he was buying it either. Sighing, he polished off the last of his beer and motioned for the bartender to close them out.

“Sammy’s waiting - we should head back.” He murmured, but Castiel remained silent, face drawn tight.

They made their way into the chilled evening, the moon bright enough to show them the way. Dean could see his breath but paid more attention to Castiel’s, as he huffed in frustration.

“Dude, look - I’m sorry ok?” Dean felt his body tilt a little in his drunken state, and he took a moment to right himself again. “I didn’t mean to insult you or whatever.”

Castiel sighed, the first sound he’d heard from him in a while. He stopped in his tracks to look at Dean, his brow furrowed.

“You didn’t answer my question, Dean.” The words were calculated, like they’d be running through his head over and over in practice. “Did you like it?”

“Like what?”

“The song?”

“The song? Yea, man, it’s the Doors. Solid choice.”

“No,” Castiel tried again and took a step forward, now well within Dean’s personal space. “Did you like it? Did it make you feel good?”

“Feel good?” Dean tried to answer but was too distracted by the intense gaze, and the way that Castiel’s lips drew in under his sharp teeth when he said ‘feel’.

“Yes.” Castiel sighed again, looking despondent. “The song was for you, Dean.”

Honestly, he was pretty drunk - they both were. You wouldn’t place either of them behind the wheel of a moving car. But those words sobered Dean instantly, and he felt his chest seize with a breath that couldn’t escape. Castiel’s confession was quickly accompanied by a look away, almost depressed - he was anticipating rejection. And it wasn’t the booze, or the sexy way that he’d sang, or the way he was so tantalizingly close that made Dean answer. It was the way the dawning realization of the truth made him feel like he could take out a sizable army of demons.

“It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Castiel’s head turned sharply to look Dean over, his eyes darting as if to see whether Dean was being honest. Their breath produced a small fog between their faces, making it hard for a moment for Dean to read Castiel’s reaction. Suddenly his face broke through the fog and their lips crashed. Castiel grabbed at Dean’s waist, shoving their bodies together.

They were on some street corner, butted up against an old Radio Shack and making out like a couple of horny teenagers. Dean’s head swam - but the haze of booze only served to eliminate the last of his inhibitions, running his hands through Castiel’s soft hair and down the length of his body. The angel was so solid, warm and insistent, pushing him backwards until Dean hit against a literal brick wall.

“Easy, tiger,” he huffed, breaking apart for a moment and looking down at Castiel. He looked just like he had in the bar - slightly sweaty, breathless and hungry. His swollen lips pursed, like he was trying to decide what to do next.

“Sorry.” Castiel murmured, and fuck it, those lips were delicious. Dean dove back in.

He made a little moaning sound as Castiel grabbed both of Dean’s wrists and slammed them against the wall, restraining him. Being that his gut reaction to violence has always been more violence, the action probably should have pissed him off. Instead he just growled into the angel’s mouth, letting a sudden roll of his hips indicate that exactly how he liked to be handled. Cas responded with a small bite to his upper lip.

“I didn’t give you permission to do that, Dean,” Castiel chided, taking both wrists, pushing them behind Dean’s back and holding them tightly with a single hand. Dean struggled and found he couldn’t actually get free but dammit, he didn’t want to. He whined a little into Castiel’s mouth, dragging his tongue along the swollen bottom lip. The angel tasted vaguely of oak and vanilla, enough for Dean to nearly lose his mind at the flavor of him.

Castiel took his free hand and wrapped it around Dean’s hip, tight enough to bruise. He pulled back to lock eyes with him, questioning roughly. “Can I touch you?”

The words might as well have been in Cantonese to the degree that Dean understood them at first. It took a blinding flash from a passing car, slowing driving past with it’s brights fully lit, to bring him back to earth. Castiel looked very concerned at his lack of response.

“Uh, yh - yes. Please,” Dean garbled out and Castiel’s palm was against his length, shrouded in thick denim. The damn thing twitched and Dean bit his lip, trying to keep himself from crying out in the seedy alley. Castiel’s hand continued moving steadily as he studied Dean’s every expression, every whimper, starting a catalog of his reactions.

He shifted again, this time popping the top button to Dean’s jeans. The hunter responded with an enthusiastic nod - now was not the time for Castiel to be hung up or waiting on consent or Dean’s state of mind. He was sober enough to know what this was and oh God, was he sober enough to remember the way Castiel grabbed his dick like a lifeline. This wasn’t going to last long.

He threw his head back and moaned his name, testing his hands a bit to see if they’d come free - he loved being restrained but he wanted to feel the angel under his fingertips as he came. Cas relented, moving his hand away only to place it solidly against Dean’s chest, as if to hold him in place while he worked him. Dean reached out and pulled the angel closer, almost too close to allow him to continue his ministrations, and meeting their lips again in a kiss that was deliciously sloppy. Why had he waited so long to be with Cas like this? It was like they were perfectly in sync, the outside world narrowing to just them, just this moment, just their desperate need for each other.

His breaths were heaved in short spurts, and he knew that he was close. He started to mumble against Castiel’s shoulder something to that extent, when he heard that graveled, commanding voice again, reverberating in his ear.

“Come for me, Dean.”

* * *

 

Dean sat straight up in bed, sweat beaded on his forehead, Castiel’s name a whisper on his lips. He felt the orgasm dissipate as his brain began to register where he was - bunker, bedroom, bed. Completely alone. A quick glance at the red digital display told him it was nighttime. The room stank of sweat and sex, and he began to feel a spot in his sweatpants turn cooler. He breathed heavily and blinked into the darkness, trying to reorient himself. One moment he was in a back alley in Iowa with Cas, about to shoot the best load of his life - and now he’s here, at home? Did they teleport? Or….

“Shit - it was a dream…” he murmured, mystified. He felt a rising panic in the bank of his throat as he couldn’t help the harsh words escaping:

“What. The. FUCK!?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thank you,” Castiel said. “It looks like you have something on your hand too?”
> 
> Dean glanced down at his callused hands. Well, yes, he was right - there was a sort of permanent dinge to his fingernails that he couldn’t quite scrub out every evening. Came with the mechanic lifestyle. But other than his still red, aching finger he couldn’t see anything glaring.
> 
> “I don’t-”
> 
> Castiel snatched his left hand into his own, and Dean looked up in surprise to see that the man had somehow produced a pen. He scribbled a series of numbers on his palm as Dean’s pulse raced. When he’d finished writing he looked up, giving Dean a full view of those striking eyes, his expression playful. 
> 
> Dammit, that was smooth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly I'm unable to stick to my own "Once a week" rule. I have zero willpower when it comes to these two.

** **

 

**Chapter Two**

 

Dean didn’t fall back asleep that night. Instead he lay awake, eyes pouring into pitch black, trying to gather his thoughts as they erratically danced from one emotion to the next. He’d at least had the good sense to change into some new pajamas, stuffing the messed pair to the bottom of his hamper. Returning to his bed he hoped the memory foam and flannel sheets would soothe some of his mental distress. Instead he found himself completely at the mercy of the events of his dream, playing over within his mind on an endless loop.

He hesitated rising and pouring himself a drink, but after a solid hour of racing thoughts, he had a headache. Three-thirty in the morning sounded like the perfect time for whiskey.

Of course, thinking of whiskey only made him think of that shot - and the look Castiel gave to him as he finished the last of his….

Yep - absolutely going to need booze for this.

An hour and six fingers later, he was sufficiently mollified, sitting barefoot in the cold library. Even the chill of the still room against his bare chest couldn’t seem to cool the flush of his skin with each memory. At least the thoughts had stopped their marathon, and instead began to organize themselves from the most mundane to the most worrisome.

The mundane being that they had been in Iowa, at a bar, and that he’d been sure he would never step foot on a karaoke stage again. The worrisome being that he’d _been_ _with_ Cas - nearly in the biblical sense of the word - and _enjoyed_ it. Even now the memory created a flighty feeling in his gut. He remembered the raw look that flashed as he’d asked to touch him (which was so damn Cas, the picture of politeness as he pushed him against cold brick). A storm raged in those eyes, and Dean had the sense that the angel had been holding back, somehow. And when he’d touched him, so sure of himself and so perfectly, Dean fell apart in his hands. He’d been with some great lovers in his time but when it was Castiel, it was as if Dean had been created for the angel’s hands alone.

Of course, that hadn’t actually been Cas. It had been the most vivid, messed up dream of Dean’s strange life. But the alcohol was helping, and slowly he felt the muscles in his back start to relax. He sat back with a sigh, letting his mind drift as he tried to picture Lady Double-D’s face.

* * *

 

He awoke with a start, face within his arms on the map table, drool pooling down his wrist onto the resin top below. Behind him Sam had hip checked the chair he was slumped in, and was now snickering.

“Sammy!” Mary chided, but couldn’t hide the humor in her voice either. Dean sat up, wiping his chin and taking a deep breath. The empty glass and half empty bottle of Jack made it impossible to act as if he’d fallen asleep doing anything other than drinking himself into a stupor. Had it only been Sam who’d caught him he’d be less inclined to care, but as he met his mother’s eye, he wished he’d actually cleaned up and gotten back to his room before he’d passed out.

“Morning, sweetie.” Her voice was kind, because somehow it always was. She had a smile that said ‘I know’ and he wished it didn’t kill him for her to see his weakness.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand across his face. “Is there coffee?”

“I think Cas made some earlier.” Sam answered, putting the straw of his smoothie to his lips.

Shit - _Cas_.

How is he supposed to face Cas with a straight face?

Or - with a somewhat confused sexually face?

_Fuck._

“Oh uh, I’m just going to hop in the shower.” Dean sat upright and tried to quickly yet subtly bolt from the room. As if he could, as if he needed to avoid the angel for the foreseeable future; washing the remnants of last night's orgasm from his skin would be a great first step.

Turns out there wasn’t enough scathing hot water in the world, let alone the ancient pipes of the bunker, to burn his dream away. He attempted to distract himself first by mentally going over how to dismantle his favorite pistol, clean it, and put it back together, genuinely hoping the dry thoughts would shift his focus. But the sight of his own hands only served to remind him of the contrast of Castiel’s, long fingered and lithe, strong as they pulled him towards unreal completion.

He shook his head, the foam of the shampoo flaking off against the shower wall. Stubborn as he was, he wasn’t about to leave himself with blue balls for the rest of the day. Tapping into a mental image from the archives of his one night stands, he took himself in hand. Might as well get this over with.

Surprisingly enough satisfying his baser needs seemed to clear his head more than the whiskey had. He wrapped himself in terrycloth, finally able to compartmentalize his dream away. The truth was, he hadn’t gotten laid in a long time, and he was actually sort of lonely. His brain was clearly creating elaborate, out of character situations just to get his rocks off. Castiel has always been his best friend, obviously something in his head was registering the purely platonic affection he had for him as something more.

Yeah, that was totally it.

* * *

 

Fully clothed and ready for the day, Dean wandered back to the library with a full cup of coffee where he found his mom and Sam watching youtube on his laptop.

“The advances the world has made - it's brilliant,” Mary breathed and Sam nodded enthusiastically beside her. Dean bit his tongue as something sarcastic threatened to escape. This moment, observing his living, breathing mother interact with his miraculously still standing brother was a gift Dean never thought he'd get. If aging as a hunter has taught him anything, it's that moments like this are rare.

He quietly stood just outside of their view, watching before he felt another presence over his shoulder. His heart sped and he struggled to keep his breathing even.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel's voice was soft - he’d been progressively picking up on social cues more over the years. Now that he was living in the bunker with them (or nearly, as he occasionally left to do “angel things”) he seemed to be damn near perfect at acting human. He was being careful in this moment to not disturb what he knew was something special to Dean.

Still, his presence broke Dean from his reverent observance. He looked over his shoulder, and in an attempt to act perfectly normal he responded, “Hey Cas.”

It was the look that gave him away - his eyes slightly wider, he bit the very tip of his lip, and he took just too sharp a breath. When their gazes met, Castiel frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

The lie hardly seemed worth the trouble, so he tried a half truth. “Just, watching them nerd out - I just feel lucky, I guess. We were never supposed to get stuff like this.”

“The world owes the Winchester brothers a lot,” Castiel murmured, keeping his voice quiet. “I'm glad to see Sam get the opportunity to connect with your mother.”

“Yeah, talk about a second chance,” Dean said. “He never was real close to Dad - maybe he'll end up being a Mama’s boy.”

“And what about you, Dean? How are you doing with your mom?”

“Fine. Hey Sammy!” He raised his voice and walked into the room, feeling guilty at the dismissal but not enough to continue down any path that led to a heart to heart with Cas. That dream was far too fresh in his mind.

And the reality was, there wasn't much to say anyway. Once the initial shock of her resurrection had worn off and they'd eliminated the Woman of Letters that had come to kill Sam, they'd settled into the life again - only now with a mother. Who watched over their actions, had emotions about what they'd done in their lives, was quietly resentful at John for raising them this way - but hey, that's pretty tame when it came to everyday Winchester drama. For now Dean was taking it day by unexpected day.

“Dean, have you ever heard of the Cosmosphere?” Sam still faced the laptop but Mary looked up with a smile to greet her son and Cas.

“Sounds like a-” he just stopped himself in time before he ended with “...kinky Russian space porno”, but the look on Sam and Mary's faces indicated they took his meaning well enough.

“It's a space artifact museum, about three hours from here,” Mary continued. “Sammy and I were thinking of going since I've missed out on the last thirty years of space travel, probably stay overnight. You guys want to join us?”

You know, that didn't sound half bad. He would enjoy the drive and his mother's company. But he knew himself well enough to know that he'd get restless at the museum and besides, Sam should get some time alone with Mom.

“Nah - Sammy's your smart son. You'll have more fun with him anyway.” Dean winked as he watched his mother scowl - his self deprecating remarks being the only thing that seemed to consistently get on her nerves.

“Both of my sons are very intelligent, _Dean_ ,” she said, “Castiel, what about you?”

Much to Dean’s chagrin, Castiel also declined the offer, albeit far more politely. And so he was left alone with the angel in the bunker, and an endless list of things to do - none of which, he already knew, would fully clear his restless mind. He started with a good wash on Baby, carefully taking a scrub brush to the indents of the chrome grill to remove the caked on bug guts. Then he took off the rims, soaking them in a solution and then taking a scrub brush to those too. Each part of the car he paid meticulous attention to, as if cleaning every small corner would somehow wipe his thoughts. It did, to an extent, as he listened to the radio drone and used his shop vac to clean behind the pedals.

Sam would call it anal retentive - Dean’s just thorough.

He spent the better part of the day buried within the black metal, cocooning him from his own thoughts. Thankfully, if there was one thing he appreciated about Castiel - he seemed to be able to sense when Dean should be left alone. Making himself scarce was never a thing Cas seemed to have trouble with. Dean found him by accident in the evening, pulled up to a table in the library with a copy of _Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince_. He’d left most of the room dark, save a single old yellow lamp, lit on the table. It cast shadows of the book across his mouth, but picked up the brightness in his eyes as they read inhumanly fast.

“I thought Metatron filled you in on all this pop culture stuff.” Dean said, picking under his fingernails at the dirt the first wash couldn’t get out.

Castiel half smiled, setting the book down on the table and meeting Dean’s gaze. “Yes, I suppose he did,” he answered, “But Charlie always spoke so highly of these books - I thought I would honor her memory by actually reading them.”

Dean was struck - frankly, any memory of Charlie was still acutely painful. But Castiel had this way of making terrible things that had happened to Dean slightly more bearable. Thinking of the spitfire redhead now, babbling about the heroics of Hermione, brought a bittersweet yearning to his heart.

“She’d like that.” Dean said, not even attempting to mask the emotion in his voice. After all, Cas would know exactly how he felt anyway. He always did.

“Are you off to bed? We could watch the movie - I think Sam has them downloaded.” Castiel’s eyes were friendly and Dean felt incredibly stupid. How could he have been avoiding his best friend all day? And over what - some silly gay dream? The whole thing was ridiculous. Chalk it all up to poor Dean Winchester never actually having a bestfriend (that wasn’t related to him) in the span of his tumultuous adult life. The angel’s offer filled him with warmth because Cas actually wanted to spend time with him. Because he was just a good friend. Stupid dream.

“Thanks but, I’m beat. I didn’t sleep so great last night.” Dean didn’t elaborate, and Castiel didn’t ask. He felt a gurgle of life in his gut, a gentle reminder that he’d skipped lunch. “Just going to make myself a PB&J and turn in.”

“Ok,” Castiel nodded and picked up his book. “Will you make me one?”

Dean’s feet skidded to a halt at the doorway. “What? Since when do you eat?”

Castiel shrugged. “I _can_ eat, Dean. I just don’t need to. But that sounded good.”

“You’re one odd angel….” Dean started towards the kitchen, the brisk of the bunker chilling his grease covered arms. Maybe he’d take a shower, then eat the sandwich in bed. Oh, the sweet luxury of the combination of food _and_ memory foam...

“Strawberry jelly, please!” Castiel’s voice carried down the hall.

“This ain’t no restaurant, Cas!” he shouted back. With a roll of his eyes, he opened the fridge, reaching automatically for the requested jelly.

* * *

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yelps as the wrench catches his finger, squeezing the life out of it until he can break free. It throbs painfully, the heat from the garage making the blood gather faster at the tip. Grumbling in frustration, he bends his aching knees and slides out from under the oversized hunk of garbage car Bobby had gleefully tossed his way that morning.

Sitting up he takes a closer look at the digit, purple and pinched but likely without need of additional medical attention. He stands to brush off his pants, nudging the creeper to sit just under the car.

“You find a snake or something?” a gruff voice calls behind him.

“The only snake here is this God damned, useless heap of scrap metal car you decided to bestow upon me, Bobby.” Dean wiped his forehead with the back of his injured hand.

“It’s a 1978 Lincoln Continental actually. It’s a classic. And it was my father's.”

The clarification comes from a different voice, as scratched as the gravel beneath his feet. It surprised Dean. He turned to meet it, only to be temporarily blinded by the glare of the afternoon sun reflected off a beat up Honda sitting at the entrance of the industrial garage. He raised a hand against it, shielding his light eyes as they adjust. Finally coming into focus he recognizes Bobby, arms crossed in coveralls with a frown that usually accompanies a few curse words to Dean.

Next to him, however, was an entirely different expression. Amusement painted across the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, the corners of a wide mouth upturned like he was struggling to not laugh. He was foolishly dressed for the dead heat of the Kansas summer, in loose slacks and a button up, rolled past his forearms.The man carried paperwork in his right hand, nothing but sunglasses in his left. Dean’s never really able to break the habit of checking for a ring, even when he’s not looking for a date.

“Classic is a strong word,” Dean said, walking towards the duo, letting his charming smile work its magic.

Unfortunately the spell fell flat.

“A classic car is defined as a vehicle that is more than twenty years old. At thirty eight, this one is overqualified,” he answered. Dean tried not to look impressed at the sharp math, and the even sharper wit.

“Dean, this is the owner of the Lincoln, Castiel.” Bobby nodded and raised a brow. “He came by to check on progress, and I told him we had our best mechanic on it. What I didn’t mention,” he gave Castiel an aside, “was what a pain in the ass he is.”

“I’ve no doubt that’s true.” Did Castiel just give him a quick once over, or was that a trick of the light? “It’s unimportant, as long as he gets the job done.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll have this rust bucket back up and running faster than its top speed of sixteen miles per hour.” Perhaps if charm didn’t work, sass might. It certainly wasn’t scoring any points with Bobby, who rolled his eyes and turned to show Castiel out.

“We’ll leave you to it,” he started, but Castiel actually stopped and turned back, resting his hand lightly on the gruff man’s shoulders.

“Actually, if he doesn’t mind, I’d like this uh, gentleman, here to show me what’s wrong with it.” Castiel nodded towards the vehicle. “That is - if Dean can spare a few minutes.”

“Suit yourself - but I ain’t responsible for the drivel that comes out of that boy’s mouth. Consider yourself warned.”

“Noted.” He winked, walking towards Dean with a smirk. Jesus, the closer he got, the less confident Dean felt. It had been a long time since he’d felt such an instant attraction to another man. He clammed up a bit, turning robotically to the car, feeling under to unlatch the hood and prop it open. His shirt moved a bit to flash a hint of his hipbone and he watched the other man out of the corner of his eye to see if he looked. He didn’t. So this was going to be all business then. Dammit.

“Well, you see here,” Dean pointed and Castiel leaned in behind him. He was so close he could just barely smell him over the overpowering smell of oil from the engine. There was a hint of dust, something spicy, like ginger. “You’ve actually blown your carburetor. Common problem with Lincoln Continentals, but because it’s attached to the fuel line, we’re going to replace that too. It’s going to need to get replaced soon anyway, and it’s better to do them together.”

“Hmm, I see,” Castiel said, pushing forward to point next to Dean’s hand. “And you said that was here?”

“No - here.” Dean grabbed the outstretched hand and moved it over where the part was already dislodged.  Clearly Castiel didn’t do much manual labor at all, if the softness of his hands was any indication. He let his own fingers linger over Castiel’s for just a space of a moment, fighting back the images that the phrase ‘manual labor’ brought to mind.

“Oh - ok.” Castiel backed away and Dean missed it instantly.

“So, uh, what do you do?” Dean stumbled over his words, forgetting every smooth talking line he’d ever used. “I mean, besides not work on cars.”

Castiel smiled and leaned back. “I’m a history teacher at St. Gregory’s. I teach tenth grade. In fact, my lunch is probably nearly over...” he glanced down at his watch. His expression changed to pout, as he realized that he had gotten some of the grease from the engine on the pad of one of his fingers. He turned it over and then looked around, clearly to find some kind of rag to wipe it off on.

“Oh! Sorry about that. Part of the gig.” Dean reached into the back pocket of his jeans and produced a mostly clean rag. It was still early enough in the day that it wasn’t entirely soiled, and he handed it to Castiel who took it thankfully, rubbing his finger within a clean corner.

“Thank you,” Castiel said. “It looks like you have something on your hand too?”

Dean glanced down at his callused hands. Well, yes, he was right - there was a sort of permanent dinge to his fingernails that he couldn’t quite scrub out every evening. Came with the mechanic lifestyle. But other than his still red, aching finger he couldn’t see anything glaring.

“I don’t-”

Castiel snatched his left hand into his own, and Dean looked up in surprise to see that the man had somehow produced a pen. He scribbled a series of numbers on his palm as Dean’s pulse raced. When he’d finished writing he looked up, giving Dean a full view of those striking eyes, his expression playful.

_Dammit,_ that was smooth.

“You know, in case something comes up. With the car,” he clarified, but nothing in the way he smiled indicated that the clunker was anywhere near his thoughts.

“Yeah - sure.” Dean squeaked.

“I’ll see you soon, then?” Castiel squeezed his hand before letting it go.

“Uh, yeah. Soon.”

* * *

 

The feeling of the cooler side of the pillow was what woke Dean up. It was at least at a reasonable hour this time, but he doubled down on those feelings of dread.

“Shit….not again….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean turned to adjust himself quickly, breathing a sigh of relief. He shook his head to clear it, then turned back with the intention of grabbing the remote to switch the television off before he made his escape. But he paused at the sight, Castiel breathing easily, barely illuminated in the still room. His expression peaceful, reminding Dean of how he’d looked as he’d touched him gently in his dream. He felt his heart constrict involuntarily and he squinted.
> 
> This isn’t the way you should feel towards a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who've been following this story - I'm so excited about it. More dreams for our Dean!

** **

 

**Chapter Three**

 

“I know it’s the future and all, but robots scare the shit out of me.” Mary’s eyes were wide as she looked across the table at Dean. Her serious expression wasn’t a laughing matter, but her phrasing was, and he smirked into his second cup of coffee.

“You’re a hunter Mom - you’ve taken out all kinds of monsters. I’m pretty sure you could kick a computer’s ass.”

“It was their eyes, Dean,” she said. “It wasn’t normal. We had to leave the theater, it was too damn creepy.”

Sam had a contented smile as he joined them in the war room, sitting down and propping his long legs up on the table. Dean was almost envious of that carefree look, if he wasn’t so busy letting it fill him with a quiet joy. The two of them had arrived home from their adventure earlier this morning, and had proceeded to talk his and Cas’s ears off with tales from the Cosmosphere. Cas had taken a seat next to Dean, also enjoying a cup of coffee. And the entire scene was damn near perfect, everything Dean had ever wished for.

Except he could still feel the softness of those fingertips, grazing over his pulse as the numbers were written across his palm. Even now he hastened a glance at it, reassuring himself for the seventh time that day that the markings weren’t actually there.

Cas seemed to catch him doing this, for a brief moment looking down at Dean’s hand and then raising an eyebrow to him curiously. But if he thought anything was suspicious, he didn’t ask.

“So I’m thinking it’s ‘bout time we get back into the swing of things,” Dean said at an attempt to change the subject. “We’ve been out of the game so long, and I’m startin’ to get the twitch.”

Sam rolled his eyes and Mary pinched her lips together, but the two didn’t look entirely disagreeable.

“I really haven’t been checking the message boards lately - I guess I’ll have a look.” Sam leaned forward and grabbed his laptop, dusting the top off before opening it.

“I can ask around - with the angels that are still talking to me,” Cas spoke up, and Dean nodded an assent without looking at him. With a fluff of wings he was gone, and Mary blinked a little, shaking her head.

“I might get used to robots - but I don’t think I’ll really ever get used to that.”

* * *

 Oddly enough it was Mary who found them a job that evening, having borrowed Dean’s laptop. (Which he’d taken a few evenings to ‘scrub’ - or rather, had bribed Sam to ‘scrub’ - of all the completely innocent material he’d stored on it over the years. It wasn’t exactly as if he’d anticipated his own mother needing to look at his computer _ever_ in his life - though with the strange way their lives work, he really should have stopped to consider that possibility.)

“I think there is a vamp nest in New Orleans,” she said, wiping her mouth with her napkin. Upon his return from his unsuccessful outing, Cas had brought them all dinner from some rustic Texas BBQ place he saw after meeting with a few of his brethren. Dean had very nearly inhaled it, stifling a moan at the last bite. Damn, sometimes having an angelic best friend really had its perks.

Sam flipped her computer around to read and after a few moments he nodded. “Yeah, get this - two reporters died in the 70’s after investigating some vamp sightings at a convent. Legend says the nuns there descended from some that arrived from France in the 1700’s with a bunch of luggage in the shape of coffins. The locals called them ‘Casket Girls’.”

“I’m sure they were just ‘packing light’.” Dean joked. Mary rolled her eyes.

“Nothing’s happened since until a week ago - another amateur journalist decided to pick up the story and they found him yesterday, completely drained of blood.” Sam sat back and took a swig of beer.

“Like I said, vamp nest.” Mary shrugged. “The classics never change.”

“So - easy trip to the Big Easy?” Dean chuckled. No one else did, but hey, if you can’t make yourself laugh, you’re living wrong.

Seizing the opportunity to have a few days away from his completely platonic and somewhat dream inducing best friend, he turned to Castiel.

“Hey buddy, this is going to be an easy hack-saw job. Hardly worth your time - why don’t you sit this one out? Go see if you can stir anything up about Lucifer?”

Dean wished he had a slow motion camera, because that was the only way you’d be able to capture the microsecond where Castiel’s face fell. He recovered it so quickly that the other two didn’t remark on it at all, and he shifted in his chair to sit up straight before responding.

“Of course, Dean. That’s a great plan.” He nodded as Dean’s gut churned with the solid knowledge that Castiel was lying to him right now. Dammit.

Dinner continued and finished without another word from Cas. It was decided that they’d leave reasonably early tomorrow morning - New Orleans was a 16 hour drive, and they could do it in shifts. Mary gathered their plates with a smile, and Cas excused himself with a grimace.

“Cas - wait.” Dean mentally kicked himself as he followed, both for stopping him and for not letting him go. But he was getting to a point in his life where regardless of whatever fucked up things were going on, he’s starting to recognize the sanctity of what he has; the relationships with his family, and how fragile they actually are. Old Dean would have let Cas fly off, and maybe stewed about it for a while, knowing that it was wrong but too chicken to change anything. After Amara, after everything they’d seen and done, after nearly losing his brother and Cas time and time again, knowing that now when the reaper comes to get them, it will be the last time. It was starting to feel like these little moments were important. He didn’t want to see his friend hurt, no matter how much it made him want to simultaneously barf, flee and hit something.

“I’ll be alright Dean, I won’t try to confront him.” Castiel answered as he turned, but there was that cagey look again - unhidden now that they were alone.  

“Uh huh, where’s the beef Cas?” Dean crooked his head and Castiel looked away, something like shame in his expression. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s unnerving how you do that.” Cas didn’t meet his eye.

"The feeling’s mutual, bud, believe me.” Dean smirked. “Now answer the question.”

Castiel sighed with resignation, and Dean could feel the the air between them shift. The television turned on in the other room, a quiet murmur underscoring their talk. But it was at least an indicating factor that they’d remain alone for a few more minutes. The prospect made his pulse quicken a hair, though he suppressed it. Now was not the time to get lost in those damn dreams of angelic hands again.

“When I was - possessed,” Cas began, carding his fingers through his hair. “You know, there are no secrets when that happens. When I inhabited Jimmy, I knew him, uh, intimately. Lucifer had that same knowledge. I was - completely exposed to him.”

Dean fought the urge to make a lewd comment. Besides, it was very possible Lucifer had violated him in some sexual kind of way. And if that was the case, well, Dean would have to kill the archangel more than he’d already planned.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Dean found himself saying, his voice gentle.

Castiel looked up and then down again, having an internal debate. “I know - I will spare you the details.”

“If you want to give me details, I’ll listen,” he clarified quickly. “You just don’t have to, is all. I, uh, you know, care.”

“Thanks.” Cas softly smiled at the ground, then looked up to meet Dean’s eye. There was a quiet strength there, something that Dean always had admired and seen, but never put words to. It was a look that Dean could read as well as pages from a book. Castiel was hurting beyond words that he could speak, beyond what he thought Dean would want to hear.

“I mean, we’re going to kill him Cas. That’s not up for debate,” Dean said, putting his hands in his pockets. “If you don’t want to face him right now, I get it.”

“No, it makes sense, what you’re asking me to do.” Castiel straightened himself up, taking a quick breath. “I’ll be back as soon as I hear something-”

“No - it doesn’t.” Dean sighed and shook his head, because it was the truth. “It doesn’t make sense. We could use you on the hunt and besides, we’re better off fighting him all together. We’re stronger as a unit.”

“But I-”

“I’m the ass, Cas.” He smirked at his own rhyme, and fortunately, Castiel did too. “Forget I said anything. Look, I’m not any good at being the comforting friend type, but uh, how about we put on Harry Potter and finish the pie Mom bought?”

Dean knew that would put himself in a better mood but to his shame, he really had never taken the time to consider what makes Castiel feel better. He felt like a terrible friend for making the suggestion until he saw the angel’s expression perk up slightly.

“There is only one slice left.”

“Well, shit!” Dean threw up his hands, but he was smiling, and he watched the tension leave Castiel. “I guess I’m such a good flippin friend, that I’ll let you have it.”

With a blink the angel was gone, appearing once again in front of him with the last cherry pie slice, two forks and a smart ass grin.

“No one likes a show off, Cas.”

* * *

Dean was developing a deep appreciation for these calmer moments in their lives. Sure, most of the time he was one-hundred percent a gung-ho monster killing machine. But after he punched out for the day, there was something about sitting with Sam or Cas and just chilling that seemed to refill some unseen yet felt internal meter.

They shared the pie and he tried not to think about how cute that actually was. Just two dudes sharing the last slice. Nothing to see here - move along.

Somewhere after Mary’s arrival they’d actually outfitted one of the bunker’s rooms to be a decent living space, and Cas and Dean sat next to each other on the used couch, even after the last crumbs were licked from the plate. (What? Waste not, want not!) He loved that Castiel didn’t talk during movies, and he wondered if that was because he already knew the plot, or because he was that in tune with Dean’s pet peeves. Regardless they watched in silence, and between their full bellies and the intense teen drama angst, Dean felt his eyes begin to droop.

* * *

He woke cocooned in memory foam, the sunshine peeking through the small spaces between the dark curtains. Rolling over gingerly he nabbed his phone from the bedside table, pressing a button to reveal the time: 8:17. Still far too early to get his ass out of bed. Good - as far as he was concerned he could stay in this sweet bliss for the rest of the day.

“You up, sunshine?”

Dean grumbled and moved his head towards the direction of the voice. He opened an eye to reveal Castiel, somewhat fuzzy in his morning vision. At the very least he could make out the lack of clothing on the angel - he stood in the doorway of his bedroom, shirtless, grey sweatpants settling low on his hips.

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” Dean murmured and smooshed his face back into the pillow. He is not nearly awake enough to deal with his cheek.

“If you recall, that’s exactly why I use it.” His voice was a bit sing-song, which should have sounded foreign in that deep tone, but instead warmly filled the room like honey. “I believe it was in response to you calling me Cassy. Or, rather, Cassy-Cassy-bo-bassy.”

“Banana-fana fo fassy.” Dean finished with a chuckle, hiding his smirk in linen.

“Well, I was going to bring you coffee, but since you insist on being a pest…..”

“Oh, ok, ok.” Dean rolled over, rubbing his eyes and stretching. Soft blankets tangled around his bare legs - clearly his bed was trying to hold him prisoner. “I’ll do just about anything for some damn coffee right about now.”

“Well, that’s an invitation I won’t turn down.”

The smell of fresh coffee hit his nose as Castiel crossed the room and pulled back a curtain. Sunlight pierced the room and Dean suppressed the urge to hiss at it, instead throwing up an arm to shield his eyes.

“Dick move, Cas!”

“Sorry…” he answered, the lie apparent in his tone. He sat down next to him, and slowly Dean relaxed as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight. His angel was a damn vision, dark hair dusting his broad chest, his blue eyes the color of the ocean and shining in the light, his skin a healthy olive. There was just a hint of grey at his temples, rising through his bedhead like wildflowers - unpredictable and beautiful. A sign of age, and all it meant to Dean was that they’d survived long enough to see it.

Dean leaned forward and kissed him, easy and soft. It felt so comfortable, the way Castiel moved his lips against his in a dance they’d perfected through the years. Cas pulled abruptly away to frown at Dean.

“Your morning breath is atrocious.”

“You love it.” Dean smirked, grabbing the steaming cup and taking a good sized swig before setting it on the bedside table. He leaned forward again to find himself nosing at Castiel’s pulse, inhaling the fresh smell of a shower. Castiel tipped his head back with a soft sigh, letting Dean press wet kisses along the edge of his jaw. His body seemed pliant against Dean’s, contentedly giving in to his ministrations. Subtle, but intoxicating.

“You know, we’re supposed to meet Sam for breakfast…”

“In an hour - besides, he and Eileen are always late…” Dean moved his hands to grip Castiel’s thighs, tight under worn cotton. Cas hummed a little as he massaged, slow and gentle, kissing down to his collarbone. Under his lips Castiel’s heart beat steadily, and he moved his hands to grab around his waist to pull him closer.

“Come ‘ere,” he murmured and Castiel obeyed, sinking down into the softness of the bed until he was flush with Dean. He leaned in for a kiss, evidently deciding the coffee breath was preferable to his morning variety. For all their talk of needing to meet up with his brother, they didn’t seem to quicken their pace - their kisses were languid. Castiel gave a small roll to his hips, and Dean moaned a little into his mouth. Every touch was gentle, intentional. The sun caught just behind Castiel as he pulled back, reaching up to smooth his thumb across Dean’s bottom lip. It illuminated him a little, giving him a small glow. Not for the first time Dean silently thanked whomever was listening for the impossible creature on top of him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, giving the digit a kiss. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

Castiel’s only reply was a smile, the kind that crinkled his eyes more than moved his lips. Dean softly pushed him until they’d reversed positions, the angel splayed with his back to baby blue sheets. Dean crawled across him until he sat between his legs, letting his calloused hands run down Castiel’s chest. Tracing circular patterns, watching how his fingers cast shadows across old scars. He loved this body and the home it provided for his angel. How it let him give his angel feelings he was never meant to have - warmth, security, pleasure. Castiel watched him quietly, his expression satiated.

“You know, it’s almost been eleven years now…” Castiel’s voice rumbled, and Dean smirked at the memory. His angel, so young and full of fire. He should have known right then those sparks were a premonition, as they lit the inside of that barn as brightly as within his own chest.

“Yeah, but I spent the first eight or so with my head up my ass.”

“To be fair, it’s a near perfect ass.”

“True.” Dean winked and leaned down to kiss along his stomach, the slightly ticklish muscles dancing underneath his lips. He reached up to solidly grab a handful of Castiel, half hard already from the the teasing - and suddenly nothing was ticklish any longer.

“Mmmm, Dean, we really should hurry this along…” But Castiel made no move to quicken the pace as Dean stroked, letting his fingers linger at the tip. There were precious few things Dean knew he was good at, but of these he was certain: fixing his car, making a mean cheeseburger, and playing his angel like a well tuned fiddle. Castiel shuddered underneath his grasp, closing his eyes and sucking in a sudden breath.

It wasn’t long before clothing was shed, and bodies were lined together, Dean taking them both in hand as they thrusted against one another. There was a comfort in the buildup of his orgasm, and every time he opened his eyes to meet Castiel’s he felt himself push closer with the expression he found there. As if the lust and love in his eyes guided him forward. They stood together on the precipice of a moment, Dean falling only when Cas begged him in a desperate whisper to come. And it felt a bit like jumping off a cliff and landing gently on the memory foam he loved so much - warm, satisfied and adored.

They lie still tangled in one another, the chill of the morning air cooling the sweat beaded on their skin. Dean leaned forward and kissed above Castiel’s heart, pausing his lips just over the spot to take a long breath.

“You’re mine,” he whispered to the organ that beat just under the skin.

“And you’re mine.”

“Five more minutes?” Dean murmured as he nuzzled into his embrace. He felt Castiel chuckle against his cheek.

“Of course, sunshine.”

* * *

Dean blinked his eyes open to a mostly darkened room - the only light from the small television in front of him. His neck ached at the angle and he moved to stretch it, only then noticing the warmth his head was rested against.

Wait - where was he?

The television in front of him showing on repeat the loading screen to _Harry Potter_.

The couch underneath his body, soft and enveloping.

And a small snore to his right - Castiel, their heads just barely resting together as they leaned against one another.

_Shit! Another fucking dream?_

He made a move to jump away, but thought better of it at the last minute; Cas would surely wake from the sudden movement. And the only thing that could make this more awkward was Cas waking up and finding out they’d fallen asleep against each other.

Scratch that - nothing would be more awkward than Castiel discovering that Dean was half hard, seemingly from falling asleep cuddled with his completely platonic best friend.

He extricated himself ever so slowly, years of hunting giving him the experience to move like a cat when he needed to. Cas was luckily also resting against the couch enough that he didn’t slip down too much at the loss of Dean, and finally he was able to stand without the angel waking up.

Dean turned to adjust himself quickly, breathing a sigh of relief. He shook his head to clear it, then turned back with the intention of grabbing the remote to switch the television off before he made his escape. But he paused at the sight, Castiel breathing easily, barely illuminated in the still room. His expression peaceful, reminding Dean of how he’d looked as he’d touched him gently in his dream. He felt his heart constrict involuntarily and he squinted.

This isn’t the way you should feel towards a friend.

The dream had been so beautiful, so serene, that in this moment he found it hard to be upset about it. For it being about Cas, (and there was a whole host of things to analyze about that) it was the first time in a long time he’d felt purely safe and loved. The Castiel in his dream had clearly been his lover for a while - there was none of the urgency or heat to their coupling like in that alleyway in his first dream. Dream Castiel simply loved him. That filled him with a strange sense of joy, and a nearly debilitating sense of sorrow.

He let out a quiet sigh, and leaned down, fetching the remote and switching off the tv. The room was barely lit now by the hall light, and Cas didn’t stir. Turning to leave Dean hesitated for a moment, before reaching out and grabbing the light blanket they kept on the nearby chair. He fluffed it out and laid it across Castiel’s shoulders, lingering for the space of a second before heading off to his own room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes - I just had a, uh, vision. That sign for Baton Rouge brought it all back to me.” Castiel’s fingers ran along the edge of the window sill. “Just a flash - you were on the ground of some warehouse, and your leg was seriously injured. I - I screamed your name, and then there were suddenly three vamps that jumped on you at once, one of them-”
> 
> He paused to take in a shaky breath. Castiel has seen Dean die literally hundreds of times; if something is freaking him out this much, there is cause for concern. Dean tried to focus on the stretch of highway ahead of him.
> 
> “Well, let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.” Castiel finished with a huff.
> 
> “It rarely is.”
> 
> “Dean, maybe you should sit this one out….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've edited old chapters to add new art, provided by the amazing rosie_berber! I'm so excited! Look at how pretty they are!

Chapter Four

 

The fourth shift was back to Dean, being that Mary still didn’t feel quite comfortable yet with driving. For all her taking to hunting again like a fish to water, she still hesitated with a few normal life functions, driving being the primary hindrance - followed, strangely, by grocery shopping. Dean supposed she’d come around - she’s too independent to let anything hold her back for long. In the meantime, he loved being able to cart their four butts around. Tasked with the guidance and protection of the three people he cared most for in the world. Few things in his life were quite as satisfying.

Castiel had moved up to the front to join him, letting Sam and Mary collapse against each other in the back. He could have insisted it was more sensible for him to take another shift as driver, seeing as he didn’t need much sleep. But Cas understood (yet again) how much Dean needed to be behind the wheel. How it both calmed him and filled him on levels that were hard to perceive, unless you were really paying attention.

The sun had long since set when they started seeing signs for Baton Rouge, but they’d made good time despite getting a late start. Darkness began to shift with the light pollution from the city, blurring the brightness of the stars he’d watched for the better part of an hour. Someone had put on some Led Zeppelin (probably Cas, as he was still trying to expand his musical knowledge) and it crooned softly in the background. Only the higher pitches succeeded in making it past the rumble of the engine to Dean’s ears.

Castiel’s arm shot across the leather quite suddenly, gripping Dean’s arm where it connected with the steering wheel. He nearly ran off the damn road, the action was so jarring. The angel’s grip was urgent, panicked - and when Dean turned to protest he found those emotions reflected in wide blue eyes.

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice was wavy - it didn’t match the stern cadence of the angel’s normal graveled tone. “You - you’re going to die here.”

“What?”

“I - uh,” Cas searched for words as Dean slowed down marginally to be able to shift his focus. The decrease in speed stirred the other passengers, who blinked awake.

“It’s just - I had a vision…”

“Just now?” Dean crooked an eyebrow.

“What’s up guys?” Sam called sleepily from the backseat.

Cas shifted, and Dean mentally cursed his brother for butting in. The angel was like a turtle; if you poked at him at the wrong time, he was just going to crawl back into his shell. If a human vessel could physically do that, it looked like he was about to now, with his shoulders hunched and his face turned towards the darkness outside.

“It’s nothing Sammy,” Dean said, his voice rough. “Go back to sleep - we’re almost there.”

“Yes, I - thought I saw something. But I was mistaken,” Castiel offered, still not turning his gaze away from the window.

“Oh - yeah ok. Wake me up if you need…” Sam drifted off slowly, having never fully woken up in the first place. Dean kept driving for a while, wanting to make sure that the backseat passengers were well and truly passed out before asking Cas again what the hell had gotten into him.

“Sorry…” Cas said, low and quiet. 

“You ok, man?” Dean rested his hand along the back of the seat.

“Yes - I just had a, uh, vision. That sign for Baton Rouge brought it all back to me.” Castiel’s fingers ran along the edge of the window sill. “Just a flash - you were on the ground of some warehouse, and your leg was seriously injured. I - I screamed your name, and then there were suddenly three vamps that jumped on you at once, one of them-”

He paused to take in a shaky breath. Castiel has seen Dean die literally hundreds of times; if something is freaking him out this much, there is cause for concern. Dean tried to focus on the stretch of highway ahead of him.

“Well, let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.” Castiel finished with a huff.

“It rarely is.”

“Dean, maybe you should sit this one out….”

He hastened another glance at his friend, who did look as worried as he sounded. Still, Dean was never been one to sit anything out, including but not limited to certain doom. Especially if the rest of his family is walking into said doom.

“You know I can't do that,” Dean said gently, foolishly hoping for the conversation to end there.

“This is going to be a simple job,” Castiel kept his voice low but finally turned his body to face Dean. “The three of us are more than capable of handling it.”

“And what if because I don't go, one of those vamps gets the jump on my mom? Or Sammy?” Dean is already shaking his head to clear it of those thoughts. “No, Cas, thanks for the warning, but I'm not going anywhere.”

“Even if you’re walking into your own death?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he shrugged. “Not even the first time this year.”

Castiel huffed a breath and crossed his arms. “You don’t believe me.”

“Look, Cas, I’m sure you saw something, alright? Don’t mean it’s set in stone.”

“I wish you’d trust me.”

Dammit. How does he do that? Just a few choice words and Castiel is solidly under his skin. Dean felt himself get more frustrated and weary - it had been a long damn day, and those dreams were only blocked from the forefront of his thoughts by some fleeting distractions. The more heart to heart this conversation ventured, the more he felt the urge to open the door and tuck and roll.

“You know I trust you,” he said. “Now drop it.”

* * *

 

The thing about not being able to sleep is that it makes you acutely aware of the smallest noises. Dean could hear his mother’s breathing in the next bed over, soft and steady. A high pitched sound, almost imperceptible, came from a muted television on the dresser. Outside he could hear the occasional rush of a car, starting soft then louder as it drew nearer, fading again into stillness as it passed. Each noise cataloged as he struggled to decide if he should keep himself awake to avoid strange dreams, or let himself fall asleep on the off chance that the dream would be more pleasant than his current situation.

In truth, he’d always hated fighting with Castiel. Mostly because it had always seemed so pointless. The angel had been, from the moment they’d met, someone he knew instinctively would be with him forever. And not in that cheesy, Nicholas Sparks sort of way - he just knew this was someone important. Someone who was going to change him irreversibly. So when they fought, even when it was really bad, it always felt ridiculous. They would make up - it is only a matter of when. And until then was just time wasted.

Still, he hated being muzzled, and there was no way he was going to let them take out a vamp nest by themselves. Would they likely be fine? Oh sure - they’re an unstoppable trio. But if anything happened….well let’s just say, he didn’t need to add to the pile of thing he’s never going to forgive himself for.

“You’re going to wear a hole in those sheets, sweetie.” Mary’s groggy voice came from the other bed.

“Sorry mom,” Dean said, trying to disguise his frustration. “Go back to sleep.”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, and then we can both go back to sleep.” He heard a rustling and then the room was filled with a yellow lamp light. Mary looked ruffled in her pointedly purple sleep shirt ( _ Nothing white, ever again, _ she’d insisted), and it was evident in her expression she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. It was almost unnerving how much in that moment she looked like Sam - stubborn lips set in a frown.

“Just - some bad dreams, Mom.” Dean rolled over to face her, letting a hand fly up casually. “It’s nothing.”

She glowered but didn’t push. “Why were you fighting with Castiel?”

A panicked pang pierces Dean’s heart. “I thought you and Sammy were asleep.”

“Oh, your brother certainly was. That boy sleeps like the dead when you’re driving. I think it’s when he gets his best rest actually.”

“It wasn’t a big deal.” Dean hesitated on elaborating - after all, he didn’t want her to jump on Castiel’s side on this. And she likely would, seeing as he already knew he was the ass in this argument.

“Sounds like he was worried about you, and you told him off. That about the gist of it?”

The sheets suddenly felt very constricting. He pushed them off, letting a leg hook around the comforter. “Yeah.”

Mary sighed, sitting up and turning her body towards the other bed. “Dean, sweetie, I know you don’t want to sit on the sidelines, but this is a pretty simple hunt. So why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

He fiddled with the corner of the nightstand, picking at the plastic varnish with a fingernail. Most of him wanted to tell her off, a lifetime of evading moments like these too instinctual to ignore. But this was his mother, and these were the conversations and heart-to-hearts he’d always longed for. Maybe he wouldn’t have ended up so emotionally stunted if he’d had her around all these years to lead him through these murky waters.

“I’ve been having these dreams,” he said, lowering his voice as if the two occupants in the next room could potentially hear him through the floral wallpapered walls. “About, uh, Cas.”

Mary, bless her, had the good sense to know how easy it would be to spook her son in this moment, so she just blinked her eyes and was quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“He, uh,” Dean swallowed. “I don’t think it’s him, really. It doesn’t seem like him. Or it is him, just different versions of him?”

“Is he hurting you, Dean?” Her voice was delicate, like she was stepping out onto a frozen lake, cautious of the thickness of the ice.

“Hurting me? No, no - nothing like that.”

“Nothing like that?” she repeated, an inflection to her voice.

“Nothing like that,” he confirmed dejectedly and turned away, staring back up at the ceiling, now taking great interest in the water stain puckered in the popcorn.

“Oh,” she breathed, letting the information settle.

“I shouldn’t let it get to me,” he said.

“No you shouldn’t.” Mary padded across the small space to stand next to Dean’s bed. She swatted him gently on the hip, and he moved to the side to let her sit down. When he finally met her eye again, she had a small smile full of affection. It’s a look he’s getting comfortable admitting that he craved.

“Castiel is your best friend,” she started, letting her hand settle on the arm across his chest. “Whatever these dreams are, they aren’t the real thing. You can’t react to the real Castiel because of things the Dream Castiel did to you - good or bad.”

“I know Mom.”

“Do you - want - anything to happen, Dean?” Mary was back on that ice patch again. He wondered for a moment if she would feel like the need to do that if she’d always been around, or if she feels like she still needs to win her boys over. Either way, it wasn’t fair to make her worry that he’d get upset.

“In one of the dreams, I was really happy. We were really happy.” He let his face brighten with the memory being held by Cas in the afterglow, warm and safe. “I don’t know if that’s the way things would be in real life. I just know it was something I’ve never had.”

She considered the words, her eyes darting around his face. “For what it’s worth, the real Castiel cares a great deal for you - that much is easy to see. And I know you shy away from these fuzzy moments, but he doesn’t. He’d probably appreciate you being honest with him instead of telling him off when he’s just trying to protect you.”

Dean tried not to let the building nausea at the thought of telling Cas about his dreams make him bolt from the room directly to the toilet, instead taking a deep breath.

“One of these days, you need to let go of the reigns - let one of us lead for a while.” She patted his arm and stood, taking a quick swig from tiny plastic cup of whiskey he had poured for himself before bed but hadn’t finished. Handing the rest to him he polished it off with a small grin.

“Horses you can lead whenever you want, mom.” He leaned over to switch off the light as she crawled back into bed. “But my car - I ain’t letting you drive Baby anytime soon.”

“She was mine before she was yours, sweetie,” she mumbled in the darkness. “And when I’m finally behind that wheel again, she’s gonna forget all about you.”

Dean was only sure his pillow aim was true when he heard an “Ooof” followed by a small chuckle.

* * *

 

From the pictures, Dean had expected a grandiose building - something southern and regal, with a maze of hedges in the front and stone angels judging his unshined shoes. The reality was much smaller scale, more dollhouse than grand estate. And to his surprise, the angels seemed gleeful instead of judgey, a clear departure from the overcoated one standing stiffly to his left.

“Good morning, Sister,” Dean said as he approached a shrouded woman near the entrance. She was beautiful, her crisp blue eyes shining in the bright Louisiana sunshine. The crook in her eyebrows imparted something slightly sinful, but probably because Dean had enjoyed a few too many “Sister Act” adult parodies in his time.

“Good morning, how can we help you gentlemen?” Her voice matched her eyebrows, and now Dean had to fight the urge to make some lewd comment about exactly how she could help them.

But not them together, because - obviously that isn’t what he meant.

Obviously.

“We’re hoping you could answer some questions for us. I’m Agent Morrison and this is Agent Manzareck with the FBI.” Dean flashed his badge and a grin - her matching one meant this one was in the bag.

“Of course, our facilities are open to the public. Please come in.”

They followed behind her but not too closely, stepping inside the mansion. It was well kept but basic by all normal standards. The hardwood floors were clean, and they passed a winding staircase and some impressive, if dull, artwork. At least the air conditioning appeared to be working, and he could feel the sweat that had gathered at his temples on the drive over begin to dissipate.

“I didn’t know you were a Doors fan,” Cas murmured, agitation still evident in his tone.

“Doors are always a solid choice,” he replied automatically and then stumbled on his own two feet, remembering this exact conversation from his dream. The dream that lead to an alleyway, and those hands -

“Just uh, little too much coffee this morning!” He winked as the nun turned with concern.

This is the part where Castiel probably would have whispered his concern at his trip up, but as it stood the aforementioned comment about the Doors had been the most he’d spoken to Dean all day. The four had agreed to split up, Dean and Cas to interview the nuns and Mary and Sam to interview the family of the deceased journalist. Mary undoubtedly sided with Sam to try to incite some heartfelt conversation between the two of them. The ride over had been in silence, so, clearly their master plan was working.

The chapel was significantly more impressive - all shades of golds and creams that shone in the early morning sun. The altar on the far end was ornate, and a knee high fence served to block the riff raff from trudging around it. There weren't any open windows so the room had a musty smell but it wasn’t unpleasant, sort of like an old book. Not at all like a place you’d find a vampire nest. He was beginning to think that maybe his mother’s hunch was off.

“I noticed the shutters on the top of the building seemed to be nailed closed,” Castiel said from beside Dean as the woman knelt to cross herself at the first pew before walking further. “Is that due to weather?”

“Oh no, I’m afraid those have been closed to sun damage.” She smiled as she extended a hand for them to sit. “It’s quite bright in the attic, so we keep those closed to help, uh, mitigate the damage the sun can do to the area up there.”

Yeah, alright, maybe it wasn’t totally off.

The rest of the interview their nun was equal parts pleasant and slightly evasive. It wasn’t enough for a laymen to notice, but if you knew what you were looking for it was pretty obvious from the way she spoke - the attic was full of vamps. Old, likely seasoned vampires that would require some skill, but a standard fare nest if he’d ever seen one. The conversation waned, and Dean found himself trying to hurry it along, the promise of a po-boy and a sweet tea giving making his stomach embarrassingly audible.

“That was quite rude,” Castiel said to him once they’d reached the Impala, tearing away from the vamp mansion for now. They’d recoup and form a plan of attack when they met up with Sam and Mary.

“What? We know there’s a nest in the attic. Open, shut case, like I said.”

“Easy enough for the three of us to take on.”

Dean drew his lips to a thin line, but remained quiet, as it was his only chance to not respond in anger. His mother’s words echoed between his ears, and he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as they approached a stop sign.

“Still,” Cas continued, “If anything were to happen to Sam or your mother, I would not want that on your conscience. I’ll drop it.”

Taken aback, Dean raised an eyebrow and turned to Cas, eyeing him for a moment before turning back to the road.

“Uh, thanks.”

They made their way out of the residential area, the streets turning to the colorful shops and cafes of the French Quarter. Tourists were on foot and in shorts in droves. But all Dean could seem to concentrate on was the part Cas had left out - glaring like a spot of white on a black canvas. Had the angel always left himself out of the narrative, and he’s been too singularly focused to notice before?

“You know, I uh, I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you, too.” His voice was gruff like he’d not just been using it all morning. “For the record.”

There was a beat, where Dean died a little on the inside from his own admission. But in truth, it shouldn’t kill him - this is something he’d say to Sam, or his mother, or Kevin, Charlie, Jo without any embarrassment or hesitation. More than likely he’d tell them emphatically, hoping to impart their firm place in his heart without having to get all gushy.

So when was he going to start to admit that everything with Cas is, and on some level has always been, different than with anyone else?

Saving him from his own thoughts, Castiel reached over to pat Dean on the shoulder. An act that only served to calm and unnerve him concurrently.

“Then we’ll just have to keep an eye out for each other.”

* * *

 

To avoid a public spectacle, they waited until the convent was set to close to make their move. Sam and Mary’s outing had produced nothing but a truly sad story, the fallen journalist having become a first time father in recent months. His widow had spoken of him with grace, and Mary recounted the woman’s expression over dinner as reminding her somewhat of a young Jackie Kennedy in the days following her husband’s death. Strength and perseverance from some deep place inside - but you knew, when the cameras were off, she sobbed at the loss until she was hoarse.

There was a darkness behind his mother’s eyes when she spoke of the widow that Dean couldn’t shake, and he cursed himself again at his own emotional impunity because he knew she was hurting. They’d hardly spoken of John, though he knew she wanted to. The John they grew up with was not the man she married - he was a shell of a human, fueled by vengeance and lack. Dean wasn’t even sure if he wanted to tell her about Adam, if it would bring her joy to know he’d felt something with another woman, or sorrow over failing to be a good father to yet another son.

He watched her move alongside Castiel, his hand along the small of her back protectively as they took their position at the foot of the stairs. The plan was simple and loud - Dean and Sam would sneak into the attic, kick out some shutters, turn tail, and start taking them out as they bottle necked down the stairs and away from the sunlight. They wanted to avoid an all out shit show, but they weren’t going to pass up utilizing the last of today’s sunshine to lend an assist.

The thing about vampires though, is that they don’t die very quietly.

“Let us in, or I’m calling the police!” A shrill voice called from the other side of a locked door, and Dean was thankful someone had the foresight to remember the nuns might actually interfere.

With the first five dead on the floor already, two more vampires descended with shrieks to join the party. The taller of the two made a mad dive for Sam. Dean cleanly sliced through the neck of the vampire he’d just taken down before sprinting across the room towards the one eyeing Castiel and Mary, who were double teaming against a different vampire. He saw a flash of light from the angels hands, and grinned as he smelled burnt flesh.

“Over here, you ugly son of a bitch!” he challenged, and the vamp, looking disheveled from his apparent lack of beauty sleep, made a grab at Dean. Dodging, he twisted his arms up and then suddenly back down, not so much slicing off at the neck as burying his machete a good eight or so inches into the collarbone and chest of the creature.

It cried out with a garbled noise, choking on its own blood. It was only momentarily stunned, attacking again with gnashing yellowed fangs as Dean raised a leg up for leverage. He kicked the monster to the floor, freeing his blade with a slurp. Taking a breath he raised it, poised to finish the job. That’s when he felt the pierce of fangs into the meat of his neck.

He screamed, grabbing his fist and shoving his arm back to elbow the monster away. It worked, but as he turned to swipe at it, he felt a different set of fangs dig into his calf. He kicked hard down and heard it yelp, but vamp number two was already seizing the opportunity of exposed neck. He started to panic as he felt his body pierced on opposite sides.

A light filled his peripherals, and he could feel the monster to his back draw back and hit the floor with a sickening thud. The blade in his hands swung powerfully downward, this time hitting it’s original mark. He watched the disembodied head loll to the side, veins spitting the dark flowing fluid onto the shined hardwood floor. With a deep breath he looked up to see the others standing - his mother and Sam pressing hands to various wounds, but nothing too serious.

“Did we get them all?” he called out, his voice sounding weak to his own ears. Sam nodded weary as he caught his breath. At their feet were nearly fifteen vamps, in various states of decapitation. Not a Winchester record, but damn close. The room at the foot of the attic wasn’t large, nor did it have particularly good ventilation, so the smell from the flesh and iron was beginning to rise exponentially. Coupled with the still insistent nuns, who undoubtedly have figured out by now what was going on, they’d need to find a way out of here, and fast.

He turned finally to the angel he knew was behind him, unsurprised to see he’d taken less damage than the rest of them. In the dying light of the room he stood in Dean’s shadow, hands resting on his knees and peering up at him. They locked eyes for a moment, Castiel’s furrowed and worried like they hadn’t just accomplished their mission.

“Mom and I are going to check the attic for stragglers,” he heard Sam call behind him, and he mumbled an agreement. The chances that there were any left were fairly slim, but the Winchesters are nothing if not thorough.

“You ok, dude?” Dean bent to check the fang marks on his calf - deep, probably needing stitches. He winced as he pulled up the pant leg, folding it gently until it’s just above his knee.

“I’m fine but you-” Castiel stopped talking as Dean stood, and he moved to crouch in front of him. He fiddled with his leg, prodding it slightly with his fingers before pressing them to the marred flesh and healing it with a bright light. Dean watched him at his feet, something stirring in his gut at watching the angel on his knees before him. But the faraway look in Castiel’s eyes was reminiscent of his haunted gaze in the car, when he’d recounted his now obviously defunct vision. He was clearly still in that head space, and his warm hand fitted tightly around Dean’s calf like he couldn’t quite shake the image of it. Perhaps just to shock him out of it, Dean reached down to pull Castiel to his feet.

They faced each other quietly as Castiel raised his hand and ran his fingers along Dean’s neck. The action was a hair too slow, and Dean was thankful for the pain he still felt from the fangs, or else his skin might have broken out in goosebumps.

“I’m ok, Cas,” he said, daring to meet the striking eyes that somehow seemed to age during their fight. Castiel nodded imperceptibly, like his mind was still a million miles away. His fingers touched fang marks and sharp pain was replaced with warmth.

Dean couldn’t say exactly what made this moment seem so different, but he could sense a shift in the space between them. When he looked at Castiel now he saw bone weary relief. And he felt it too, in the way his fingers lingered on his neck, shifting slowly down to his collarbone. He should have turned from the intensity of that gaze, but he felt locked in place - and it felt safe. Familiar.

More banging from the other side of the heavy door shook them out of their revere, and Dean ducked his head, nodding towards the open window.

“We should-”

“Yeah, we gotta-”

Calling out for Mary and Sam, they hastened their escape via roof, riding that unique high that comes after completing a hunt. But something was different in a small glance Castiel shot Dean as they reached the Impala a few blocks away. When their eyes met he smiled, and Dean couldn’t help but reflect it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wonderful friends - I am so sorry for my lack of updates. I blame two things - one, a horrendous case of writers block that smacked me across the mouth the moment NaNoWriMo started. It was bad guys. And two, which was far more pleasant and consumed my last week - BurCon (the Supernatural Convention in Burbank). I met my beta face to face (you guys ever see that scene from Stepbrothers where they become instant best friends? Yeah, it was kinda like that) and we fangirled out the entire weekend. 
> 
> Can I just say - if any of you have the chance to go, beg, borrow or steal to get to one of these things. It's expensive, but I've never felt so surrounded by like minded people. And given the events last week, I really needed that.
> 
> The show culminated in our Jensen and Misha photo op (which had to be retaken, because someone blinked. OH DARN. TWICE THE SQUISHY GROUP HUG). The whole thing solidified for me why I love the show and why I'm proud to be a fan of these dudes. They bring to life such inspiring characters, and they won't ever know how many lives they've had a positive effect on. 
> 
> Alright then, enough soap box, and back to our boy Dean, and his disturbingly awesome dreams. As always, lovingly beta'd and art done by the wonderful rosie_berber. And if you couldn't tell from the artwork, this chapter is absolutely NSFW ;) See the end for notes regarding chapter specific scenes.  
> **Warning - this chapter is the reason for my BDSM tag**

 

**Chapter Five**

 

And just like that, their lives returned to normal. Or, as normal as Winchester lives can get.

A few dreamless weeks later Dean found himself sitting with Sam and Mary at a greasy spoon a few blocks from the house in Lawrence. Seeing it again was something she’d insisted on, and like the doting sons it turns out they are, they agreed to do a drive by.

She had sat in the passenger seat as they pulled up out front, her fingers tapping soundlessly on the worn leather. They had hardly spoken during the three hour trek, instead surrendering to the soul soothing melodies of Robert Plant. Dean made a move to cut the engine, intent on staying as long as she needed to, but a soft hand on his wrist stopped him.

“I’ll only be a minute,” she said, and stepped out of the car.

The classic white of the house had been long since repainted to a more modern sand, a soft grey accenting the door and window frames. Bright yellows and blues of a few strewn toys peeked out from a lawn that needed mowing. On the porch were a few mismatched rocking chairs, and a forgotten pitcher, still half full with ice tea.  As if the moment wasn’t cruel enough, in the driveway sat a rusted, black, ‘65 Mustang. It was patched in places, but clearly a project car as someone was lovingly rebuilding it from the sparks plugs up.

It looked so lived in, so much like the home they might have had. Dean drew a sharp breath, killing the engine anyway and joining his mother. Sam followed suit, and the two of them put their arms around her in silence. Her expression was hard, lips drawn tight and her arms only unfolded to wrap around her sons.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Dean didn’t ask her to elaborate, but she didn’t need to. The sorrow of the loss of missing their childhood was present in all of their minds. But it wasn’t a wound that needed dressing, as jagged as the scar was. Dean could feel the strong arm of his brother over his own, grasping his mother tightly, and he wasn’t angry about the hand life dealt them, if only for this moment. This house represented something different now, but it wasn’t pain.

“Don’t ever be,” replied Sam, and he knew his brother felt the same.

Dean could feel the pinpricks of tears before they started, so he broke the revere to suggest food, as he was apt to do in moments deemed too emotional. Mary was more cheerful after they’d left - her eyes lit up with the arrival of a chocolate shake, something she’d been on about pretty consistently for the last few weeks.

“While we’re out here,” Sam started between bites, “we should check out the KU Natural History Museum. They have this great exhibit on bees, with a bee tree that hosts a live colony. I was thinking we could call up Cas, see if he’s interested.”

Dean rolled his eyes to hide the tinge in his gut from hearing the angel’s name. Since their New Orleans trip Cas had made himself scarce, citing “angel business” which could be any number of legitimate excuses. Naturally, Dean had assumed the worst. Their little moment in the convent, whatever it was, had clearly weirded Cas out and now he wants distance. Makes total sense. He wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t needed some space as well, if only to rid himself of memory of soft fingers along his neck.

As if he could.

“I’m shurf hefs varfy buhsey.” Dean replied with a mouthful of burger. Mary reached a hand across the table and smacked his arm. He winced but swallowed, taking a swig of lager before continuing. “Besides, I thought you wanted to get back? Didn’t you go on about something real spooky in Nashville?”

“That was you.” Sam said, using a pointed fry to accentuate. “You thought you found a haunted Hooters.”

“Never hurts to check things out, Sammy,” Dean smirked.

Mary, who’d spent the majority of their time slurping down the shake, looked up with a grimace. “Count me out. It is very weird to have grown up sons with ...  _ urges _ .”

The two men fell dead silent. “Mom, you have to promise me right now that you will never,  _ ever _ use the word ‘urges’ again.” Dean closed his eyes and fought the way his burger threatened to resurface.

Sam huffed a laugh before continuing. “I think we can skip it.”

“You know, what is with you?” Dean’s voice raised slightly, almost accusatory. “You have turned down every hunting idea I’ve had for the last two weeks. You didn’t even want to check out those clown sightings in Texas.”

“First of all -  _ because it was clowns _ !” Sam emphasized. “And second of all, it was all over the news that it was a hoax. Waste of time.”

“I’m sorry, like we had something better to do?”

“Better than chasing down some morons trying to capitalize on political unrest? Yeah, I’m pretty sure we do.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you pay attention to politics?”

Sam’s long suffering expression made Dean want to reach across the table and throttle him. He pinched off that emotion, instead polishing off his beer.

“You know, there’s life outside of hunting, Dean.” When he used that tone, it was easy to remember a vision of Sam, an indignant six years old, hands on his hips, insisting to Dean that Easter Bunny was real. Endearing and yet, so, so annoying.

“Alright boys, that’s enough.” Mary’s tone severed the tension at the table and Dean looked away before he said anything stupid. Besides, he wasn’t wrong. It was just hard, after everything with Chuck and Amara, to pretend they were ever going to have anything resembling an apple pie life. If it was remotely possible before, being the ‘firewall’ between all of the good and evil of the world sort of closed that door forever. As far as he was concerned, adding their mother to the team just doubled his chances of dying like a martyr. He didn’t have to be happy about it.

“Mom, can you get the rest of that shake to go?” Dean grumbled. “Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

 

Dean had avoided fighting with his brother for the better part of a year now, so it felt foreign to be falling into those old patterns again. They endured Zeppelin-less silence nearly the entire drive back, despite Mary’s efforts to try to smooth things over. Poor thing had never really experienced a full Winchester blow out, and while this was small considering their near apocalyptic arguments of old, the subject matter ran too deep to pull them out of it easily.

A few minutes from the bunker she succeeded in getting Sam to talk to her, and they spoke quietly about the Natural History Museum or something. Dean wasn’t really listening. The blood still ran in his veins louder, and even the easy drive wasn’t able to calm his rage.

“Dean, honey, don’t you want something more than this life?” Mary offered. Her voice was gentle enough but she might as well have exposed her throat to a wolf - Dean was quick to bark back.

“We’ve tried that Mom,” he said. “It doesn’t work out well for us. Matter of fact, you could say most of life hasn’t worked out well for us.”

“Dean, you tried settling down one time with one person,” Sam added. “Did you ever think that maybe we just picked the wrong people?”

“Drop it, Sam.” Dean clenched his teeth.

Sam sighed but kept talking. Because apparently, he had a death wish. “Look, all I’m saying is that I’m tired. We’ve saved this world over and over again and I think it’s time we think about retiring. Getting out of this life before it kills us.”

The road ahead narrowed to their private drive. An end to this tortuous drive was in sight. Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“You want out Sammy, be my guest.” Dean felt his patience wain and drift out the open window. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been left on my own.”

The words hung between them and if Dean had been hurting any less, he might have tried to swallow them back up. But he meant for them to pierce pointedly at the place where a piece of Sam was still wounded, still felt guilt for leaving Dean in purgatory. He knew they hit met their mark when he heard a soft “wow” from his brother beside him.

“Dean!” Mary’s voice was nails on a chalkboard. Dean pursed his lips as he pulled the car into the garage. Shifting the car into park he briefly considered apologizing.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” Sam’s voice came low, damaged. Dean turned away and wretched open the door, desperate to be away from something he knew was so completely his fault.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he murmured, stepping into the bunker.

His senses were filled with the delectably salty smell of fried food, and as he reached the map room he could see buckets of fresh Kentucky Fried Chicken strewn across the table. He turned on a heel to exit, but was caught by Castiel as he came in from the kitchen, carrying a six pack and paper plates.

All of the mental work Dean had been doing in the last two weeks was wiped clean with the sight of him. Dark hair tousled like he’d been in a windstorm, his overcoat and blazer shed, strong forearms placing beer on the table and a smile that forgave Dean of every one of his sins.

“Hello, Dean.” He picked up a beer and popped the top, handing it out gingerly. “Welcome home. How was your trip?”

It was too much, the sight of Cas so domestic, the smell of comfort food and home. He was overwhelmed by it, not certain if he wanted to cry or hit something or both. The confusion in his eyes was apparent to the angel, who cocked his head to the side as if analyzing the minuscule expressions, trying to decipher Dean’s emotions without a word having to be spoken.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” His voice was less a command and more a request, but it still flooded Dean with apprehension. From behind him he heard voices, a painful reminder of the way he left things with Sam, and he yanked the bottle from Cas’ grip forcefully.

“I’m going to bed,” he grumbled, and disappeared before any objection could be made.

* * *

 

A brush of something soft and warm against the skin left purposely exposed caught his attention. It would catch your attention too, if you found yourself nearly naked, blindfolded and bound. But there was nothing dangerous about his position. If the smile that was creeping across Dean’s face - a knowing smile, an anticipatory smile - was any indication, he couldn’t be any more on board with what was about to transpire. Dean was ready for his punishment.

The pungent scent of hotel laundry bleach filled his senses where his nose was pushed into the sheets. Jute was an unfortunate choice for bindings but on the road, one night to themselves, post hunt - it would have to do. He moved his shoulders slightly to test, but he was tied with precision, careful to avoid cutting off circulation. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

And he certainly did not want to.

He was acutely aware of having a wedgie which, pared with the fact he could feel a slight breeze around his legs told him he wasn’t wearing much besides an incredibly small pair of underwear. In fact, the last time he remembered wearing underwear this small was…

“Your friend Rhonda had great taste.” Castiel’s voice was honey, and soothingly close. How he’d managed to sneak up on him entirely was a mystery but now that he was here, Dean could feel his hot breath against the shell of his ear. He canted to it, stretching to expose his throat, hoping to momentarily distract his angel with a place to nip before they began. But Castiel is single minded in his task - anything that he takes on, he does so with his complete attention and expertise. Dominating Dean was no exception.

A lithe finger trailed up Dean’s leg, starting behind his knee and snaking gently between his cheeks. He let out a hum, his toes curling over the edge of the bed. God, he needed this.

“Are you comfortable Dean?” Castiel started, his voice drawing further away.

“As comfortable as I’m going to be when my ass is in the air.” Dean wiggled it for good measure.

“Good.” 

And then there was silence, save the rumble of the air conditioner in the corner, threatening to kill the mood. Without it, Dean could extend his senses like echolocation, try to anticipate when the first slap would begin his dissension. For now he was in a white noise induced haze, goose pimples raking across his skin. Teetering on the edge of absolution at the hands of an angel.

The first hit landed and shattered the silence of the room. He hissed at the initial pain, a small searing heat near the top of his left thigh. But it seemed to break him of the last of his trepidation, and he pushed himself back, eager for the next. It aroused him embarrassingly quickly, and he could feel the softness of satin straining against his growing erection.

The slaps that followed were rapid and solid, peppering the surface with equal precision. The room echoed with them, a rhythmless symphony of flesh and grunting. Dean breathed in the feeling, warmth and pain spreading across his nerves. Each slap drew him further from the world, down, down, deep into that space of acute focus. Just Castiel, pain and pleasure.

The slapping stopped and he felt two solid hands grab at the meat of his ass, massaging and pulling as if Cas was trying to restrain his own lust. “You’re doing so well. What’s your color?”

There was an ocean of feeling inside of Dean, clear and crisp and blissfully empty. He heard Castiel but couldn’t quite respond yet, his head lolling gently to the side. Cas leaned forward, his hands softly trailing up his back to rub gently at his shoulders. For a moment, his hands turned from weapons to a means for his worship. He felt Cas’s forehead rest against his cheek.

“Dean,” Cas whispered again. “Color? Please?”

“Green,” he cooed, letting a satiated smile blossom across his features.

Chuckling, Castiel withdrew, dragging his hands and letting them pause on the small of Dean’s back. He pushed down gently, prompting Dean to open himself even more. 

“You’re so good for me.”

This time there was no anticipation, Castiel quickly laid into his flesh with redoubled effort. Noises escaped Dean’s lips, cries that rode the line between gratification and agony. He no longer bothered to try to hold them back, knowing it was music to Castiel’s ears. There was a void, a space where his brain withdrew. No hunting, no monsters, no angels or demons. Just the blissful feeling of becoming more and more tender, the pain like a blanket tucking his thoughts gently away.

Castiel grunted in exertion, pausing only to lean forward and sink his teeth into the deliciously red flesh.

“Ten more, Dean. Count them for me.”

Another slap registered near the center of his ass, and he groaned to the sensation ringing across his opening. He knew if he was good what his reward would be. And the ache between his legs was starting to be nearly as painful as the skin across his ass.

“...one…”

Dean wasn’t sure how he’d managed to speak, but his brain was only just clear enough to focus for the task. The base level need to please Castiel, to make him proud, to hear the litany of praise fall from his dry lips. Each number mumbled felt thick, laborious to expel and yet, the contented hum from the angel gave him just enough to push out the next.

The final slap came as he felt the last of his nagging thoughts leaving him finally in that subspace where only sensation matters. His ass practically glowed, and Castiel rubbed the raw skin as if to modulate the last of the sensations to a halt.

With the pain dulling every other thought, his brain was filled only with feelings, of love, of absolution. Of complete safety in the hands that now pulled gingerly at the ropes that bound him, massaging his wrists as Cas laid them at his sides. A pull came near his head, and he squinted against the sudden bright light of the room as his blindfold fell away.

“Sorry, I should have turned off the lights.” Castiel ran a thumb under Dean’s eyes, gathering the stray tears that had been shed. “But you looked so amazing, I didn’t want to miss the bruises forming.”

“Cas - I need...” Dean started, his mouth dry and his mind blank.

“I know. I’ll take care of you.” Castiel smiled and drew the satin panties slowly over ravaged skin. Dean drew a sharp breath, the pain anew, then relaxed again to a lubed finger, circling that tight fissure of nerves.

He groaned to the feeling, and felt Castiel cup him gently as he worked to prep him. It wouldn’t take long, Dean was already prostrate and relaxed in this position. His body opened up to Castiel readily, knowingly. Desperately craving the conclusion that would leave him completely boneless and satisfied. That only Castiel could deliver to him.

There was a chorus of moans between them as Cas fit himself finally within Dean, moving slowly to the hilt. Hips met welted skin, and Cas drew back, giving a few ginger thrusts to gently stretch. He wasn’t quiet, moaning endearments as he tempered his thrusts, steadily and then with clearer direction. Dean was only conscious of sensations - the fullness of being speared, Castiel’s sharp hip bones tenderizing his ass further, his hands, so strongly wrapping around his belly and his length. The angel moved his fingers in time with his thrusts, and Dean was quickly thrown from the edge he’d been standing so close to all evening. His body contracted and he cried his angel’s name into sheets. He was dimly aware of Castiel slowing and stiffening, his release shaking his thighs against Dean’s, his satisfied cry the crescendo of their symphony.

He couldn’t say how long they lay there in the aftermath, hot breath and sweat binding them. Eventually he felt Castiel rise and pull away briefly before he felt himself in his arms, softly being laid on his side.

“I’ll be right back. I promise,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss on Dean’s dry lips. Dean felt like he was floating, his vision filled with the soft glow of the table lamp, Castiel having switched off their overhead florescent. He couldn’t think, didn’t want to think, about anything or anyone outside of this room. The world and its pressures and problems just faded to stillness, and he listened to the sound of his own heartbeat echoing his ears.

Cas returned quickly to clean them both with a cool washcloth. The sensation of being so gently cared for completed the ritual; as much as he knew Cas loved to dominate, he knew the angel loved Dean allowing himself to be taken care of. The vulnerability so freely given as a gift.

“I’ll give you a bath tomorrow.” Castiel’s voice was low and gentle. “I want you to sit up for a moment and drink some of this water - can you do that for me?”

“‘M’not a baby, Cas.” Dean’s words were slurred but he obeyed regardless - after all, he’d been taking orders from Cas for the better part of the evening, now it just came naturally.

“I know. But you’ll allow me to care for you, Dean. I know what’s best right now.” He helped Dean lower his head back onto the pillow. Soft hands carded through his hair, and he felt himself teeter on the edge of blissful, restful sleep.

“Thanks, Cas,” he murmured, and Cas responded with a low hum, brushing his lips across Dean’s cooling forehead.

  
“Sleep. I’ll be here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys - a reader had some questions about the BDSM scene I've got here, so I thought I'd add a few notes about it. Skip this if you're familiar with BDSM - read on if you're not.
> 
> First of all, regardless of what you read in Fifty Shades, BDSM “scenes” should be negotiated in full by both partners before beginning. Obviously I left this part out of the narrative because it's not super eventful and hey - also it's a dream. 
> 
> Also - regarding the color gauge, I'm going to paste what I wrote in response to the question: In a scene (like the one between Dean and Cas) the dom will ask their sub for a color - it's sort of like a safe word but with more clarification. A safe word like "pineapple" will stop a scene entirely. The color system (like a stoplight) is designed to check in with your sub - green meaning "go, all things are good", yellow meaning "slow down" or "I'm approaching a limit" and red meaning "full stop" to a scene. Checking in with your sub mid scene (like Cas is doing here) is good to get an idea of your sub's head space. 
> 
> Lastly, Cas isn't just taking care of Dean afterward because he likes him so much (though, duh, he does). Aftercare is a big part of a scene like this - making sure your sub is comfortable, hydrated and above all loved in the way they need to feel it. What the person will need afterward is also something that should be negotiated ahead of time. 
> 
> I'm not huge into BDSM myself but have been involved in our local community, so I think it's important to show scenes in fiction that are done healthy and realistically. Please ask in the comments if you have additional questions. 
> 
> I also will say that if you're looking for healthy and super hot BDSM Destiel, please check out [KreweOfImp's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KreweOfImp/pseuds/KreweOfImp) [Snowbound](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5706808/chapters/13146880)!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this fic will be coming along faster. I've never posted a WIP, and I know how annoying it is to follow one, so thank you for your patience.

**Chapter Six**

 

Soft pinpricks of consciousness stirred Dean gently. He stretched his body, arching off the mattress with a satisfied groan. Each muscle felt satiated from the best night of sleep he’d had in ages. And miraculously, his ass wasn’t sore - Cas must have healed him in the night, the sentimental bastard. Luckily that bone-deep feeling of catharsis from their session remained. Dean rolled over with a sleepy grin to kiss the angel’s sleeping form in thanks, but was met with empty sheets. 

Because of course Castiel wasn’t there.

Because it was all another dream.

And everything came back in a rush; the fight with his brother, the way he drank himself into a stupor before passing out and  _ that dream _ . He was disturbed - sure he’d occasionally indulged in some light spanking in his conquests, but he was always on the giving end, and never the receiving. Besides, their was nothing “light” about that spanking - it had blown his mind to a completely different place. An untouchable place of absolution, where nothing mattered but the feel of searing pain in the safety of Castiel’s hands.

But perhaps the most troubling thing was how his body still reacted to the memory. It was near impossible to be objective about it in this moment, to struggle through what his subconscious was trying to relay, when the feeling of heat coiled in his belly.

He threw the sheets off, hoping the cold of the bunker air would dampen his thoughts. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t. He grumbled across the room at his traitorous body, hoping a cold shower would shock it back into submission.

Crap, that word will never quite have the same meaning _ever_ again.

* * *

 

Dean was three books deep into dream lucidity when Sam found him. His giant little brother plopped down without invitation, the air from the movement stirring a few of the open books to flip their page. Sam flashed a half grin and held out an orange juice.

“Peace offering.”

Dean took it gingerly. “Gonna have to do better than some juice, Sammy.”

“Taste it.”

Dean took a much bigger swig than he would have if he’d known the glass was nearly three quarters full of gin. It burned down his throat as he coughed and hacked in surprise. Choking a laugh, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I figure, if I put orange juice in it, it’s ok to drink in the morning.” Sam had a glass of his own and clinked it against Deans’ with a nod.

Dean shook his head and chuckled. “Fair enough. So we going to just use the tried and true method of solving Winchester problems?”

“Drink and not talk about it?” Sam snorted. “I mean, if you want to. I thought maybe we’d drink and agree to disagree.”

The olive branch was a welcome relief. Dean’s thoughts still raged over the dream, but he couldn’t lie about the fact that the fight was bothering him too. And that underneath it was a real issue that, as much as it pained him to say, probably needed dealing with.

“Look, I get it,” he started, setting his flammable juice on the table. “You used to want more than this, but you only had me. And I don’t know any life  _ but  _ this. I sucked you in and kept you here.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Sam clarified, his eyebrows scrunching in concern. “This isn’t about the past at all, really. It’s more - we’ve got more now. We’ve got Mom. And a chance to get to know her. But look, we can’t do that in this life, Dean. It’s gonna kill us.”

“If it doesn’t kill her…” Dean trailed off.

Sam nodded solemnly. “Exactly. I think we have a chance to start to get ourselves out. Yes we’re going to have to track down Lucifer, but that’s all dead ends for now. In the meantime, maybe thinking of the future isn’t such a bad thing.”

“Yeah Sammy, yeah.” Dean sat back and stretched. He reached out and patted his brother solidly on the shoulder. “When’d you get so smart, anyway?”

Sam huffed a laugh but didn’t comment, instead polishing off the last of his (likely much less potent) orange juice. If he noticed the common thread between the books on the table he didn’t ask about it, maybe a sign that their friendship was maturing. Unlike in years past, Sam trusted Dean to come to him with a problem - if their time with Amara had shown them anything, it had at least proven that.

“Mom and I are gonna go grocery shopping - we’re gonna take off in a few minutes.” Sam stood to leave. “You need anything?”

“Nothing besides the usual,” Dean said. “How’d you get Mom to agree to that? Thought she was still spooked?”

“Actually, it was her idea,” Sam smiled with pride. “She’s been psyching herself up all morning. Why do you think the gin was out?”

Dean laughed. “Dude, how could we have not grown up with her and still ended up so much like her?”

“Genetics, I guess. Though it’s not like Dad didn’t drink his way through his problems too.” Sam chuckled as he turned to exit the library, only to be stopped by a rushed Castiel. He entered the room like a storm, his trench coat billowing dramatically in his wake. When his eyes met Dean’s, each paused, Castiel’s expression like a deer in headlights and Dean’s heart actually stopping for half a beat. He was quick to look down, to look away, to look at any freaking thing besides those hands that fidgeted against at his sides.

There was such a break in stride that Sam just sort of paused, looking confused between the two of them before he just sighed with resignation.

“I was going to ask what I missed, but obviously you blew off Cas last night too, right Dean?”

_ Blew what?! _

Oh crap, the fight. The beer, Cas looking domestic. Right. Because last time they actually spoke, he was a shitty friend. Per usual.

“Oh uh, yeah. Sorry about that Cas.” Dean still didn’t meet his eye but miraculously managed to not sound half as anxious as he felt.

“It’s not of import.” Castiel’s voice was steely, and Dean couldn’t help to look up to see the matching expression. Even with years of experience Cas was a hard read at times, and now his eyes and his mouth told different stories - looking like he was uncomfortable but determined.

“I’ve found us a case - rugarus in Illinois.” Cas was suddenly all business, striding into the room with his eyebrow cocked.

“It’s been years since we’ve heard of any sightings.” Sam crossed his arms. “What makes you say that?”

“There was a ‘half eaten’ corpse found, just outside of Chicago. I suspect either werewolf or rugaru, but since we’re near a new moon, it’s likely the latter.”

“It’s been awhile since you’ve found us a case, Cas.” Dean pushed through his discomfort to smile at the angel, reminding himself heartily that he was really only upset with Dream Cas. “Good work, buddy.”

The praise wasn’t strange coming from Dean, but from Castiel’s expression you’d think it was. He seemed to relax with it, giving that half smile of gratitude and shrugging. And a case was a welcome relief. If nothing else, getting out of the bunker would help distract from his memories of satin and jute.

Not that he really, truly, wanted them to stop.

* * *

 

“It stinks in here.”

“It’s just disinfectant, Dean. It’s a hospital.”

“Well I don’t need my nostrils disinfected. They could lay off a bit.”

Sam sighed and rested his hand lightly on his brother’s knee. Dean knew when he was being pacified, and it did nothing to dampen his foul mood. But they’d spent weeks here now, and the smell was really beginning to get to him. Even when he did make a quick run to the hotel for the occasional shower it didn’t really leave - lingering behind on his finger tips, his jacket. The smell turned his stomach and even now, as he took a deep breath, he fought the cafeteria lasagna that threatened to revisit.

“He’s done now, you can go back.” The nurse popped her head outside of the hospital room to the small row of seats where Dean and Sam had been waiting. She was a new nurse, kind just like the rest of them, and he struggled to remember her name. Liza? Lisa?

“Thanks Liz,” Sam replied, and stood with Dean. Sam had thinned out in the last few weeks, his tall frame a little more gaut. Dean supposed he looked much the same, though he wasn’t as used to paying attention to his own physiology as his brother’s.

“Sam - you should go eat.” Dean grabbed at his wallet, pulling a few bills out and shoving them into his brothers pocket. “Bring me a burger or something.”

Sam furrowed a brow, nodded. “Do you think he’ll want-”

“I’ll share my burger with him if he’s hungry,” Dean said with a smile, and Sam returned it half heartedly. Because they both knew Cas wouldn’t be hungry. Hell, Cas had been on lipids for the last seven days; his stomach didn’t even rumble anymore. It had forgotten to function like a normal stomach. Just like his kidneys.

Dean watched his lanky brother make his way down the crowded hall before turning back into the room. Liz had opened up the curtains and he squinted against the newfound brightness, but at least the smell was less here. Maybe because he’d strong armed a nurse a few days ago to let them open up a window. Of course, with all the safety regulations the damn thing only opened an inch and a half. But that was enough fresh air for Cas, and the grateful smile it had brought to his face made Dean’s heart combust a little in his own chest. 

The angel was wrapped in the fresh sheets Liz had changed. They seemed fluffier, and so Cas seemed to drown in them. He’d lost so much weight since he’d been admitted, he was near unrecognizable like this, turned away from Dean and facing in the window. Before, when Team Free Will was at full strength, Castiel’s frame (though the shortest of the three) had always been the thickest - his broad shoulders an inch or so wider than Dean’s own, and his dense thighs stretched his pressed slacks. But now Dean could feel ribs as he reached out and placed a palm on the angel’s side. He almost hated to touch him but couldn’t stop himself needing to feel Castiel warm underneath his hands, no matter what his state.

“Hey buddy,” he said, and Cas turned with some effort to face Dean and lay on his back. Damn him, those huge blue eyes of his were practically shining. Not quite hope, but something of a quiet joy. He looked at Dean like everything wasn’t turning to shit. Like he wasn’t lying on this God damned hospital bed in Lawrence actually dying.

“Dean,” Cas smiled, his eyes crinkly, and gestured towards the window. “I just saw the most amazing blue jay. It sat outside while Liz was putting my bed back together, and just bathed in that little puddle. I haven’t seen one in so long, I’d forgotten that their undersides are actually white.”

There had been so many moments like this since he’d gotten sick; tiny, unimportant moments. Moments that were just Castiel being Cas - full of wonder or sass or head tilting confusion when it would hit Dean square in the chest. The severity of their situation, the likelihood that he was spending his last few weeks or days with him. And in these moments, he wanted to respond as he usually did, with a head shake, a chuckle, an admonition. Something normal so Cas would feel normal. But he found that he was too overcome with it all, and not especially motivated to hide it, especially when Sam wasn’t around.

The first time it happened, Cas had only been in the hospital a few days. The world was spinning, doctors and nurses flying out of the room at all hours, running test after test, sticking Cas with needles and rolling him in and out for scans. Dean never left his side. Sam must have fed him at some point - he certainly didn’t remember to leave long enough to eat. And Cas, well, he was in tremendous pain, doubled over and howling, or so sedated and drugged out he drooled all over himself. But there was a moment of lucidity, when they’d finally began to get the right cocktail of pain meds in him, just before they’d started the first dialysis treatment. It was late, maybe three in the morning, and Castiel rolled over to face Dean. He was half awake in the world's most uncomfortable recliner, feeling like there was a fine layer of sand under his eyelids.

The room was dark, save a muted tv, and they were blissfully alone. Castiel had said Dean’s name so quietly at first that Dean was sure he’d mistaken it. But once repeated he perked up, eyebrows raised and leaned forward.

“Cas? I’m awake - what do you need?” he asked quickly, body instinctually starting to panic. Any time Cas had called for him in the last few days it had been in desperation. But now he was met with blinking eyes and an even tone.

“You should go to the hotel, and get some proper sleep,” he said, sliding a hand out to pat Dean’s knee where it was near the bed. In truth, Dean had probably drug the damn recliner too close, but he only managed to relax when he could practically feel Castiel breathing.

“Not leaving you,” he replied simply. “Besides, I doubt the Motel 6 beds are much more comfy than this chair thing. You’ve got the best bed out of the three of us.”

In the patchy light Dean could see Castiel’s head tilt from its spot on the flat pillow. “I doubt that, Dean. Hospital beds are notoriously uncomfortable. If I wasn’t on so much pain medication, I would be complaining a great deal more.”

Dean snickered, and then it hit him like a splash of cold water. That none of this was very funny at all. That the situation had to be absolutely dire if Cas was in a flipping hospital. It wasn’t something they could just magic their way out of. His human vessel was shutting down and they couldn’t stop it. That this was very likely,  _ it _ . He was going to lose Cas.

Castiel must have been able to read the quick turn of emotions on his face, because the next thing he knew, Dean felt a warm hand grasp his gently, and pull.

“Come here.”

Dean went with the pull as Cas shifted and rolled, leaving just enough room on the bed for him. He toed off his shoes and lay down gently, mindful of the IV lines that tangled across the angel. Dean lifted and shifted them until they lay against Castiel’s side in a neat little bundle. Through his fussing Cas watched in contemplative silence, and when Dean was done he gave him a little smile, leaning back on his side.

“Is this more comfortable? Than the recliner?”

Cas questioned him as he reached out a hand, carefully. A hand that was weighed down with IV’s, and latex tape, and two obnoxiously yellow bracelets. A hand that Dean closed his eyes to, so when it cupped his jaw he couldn’t see those glaring reminders - he could only feel the warmth of Castiel’s palm.

“It isn’t for you. And you’re the sick one.”

Cas hummed a little and Dean opened his eyes again. They were so close, they shared a breath. Surprisingly enough even after few days in the hospital neither of them smelled particularly appalling. But perhaps that was because the closer they drew, the more they smelled of this musky combination of the two of them, and it was intoxicating.

“I’m more comfortable now than I’ve been in a long time.”

Later it would be difficult to recount who leaned forward first, who initiated the gentle capture of lips. It was maddening how these terrible series of events had made their true desires so crystal clear.  Dean held Castiel’s face between his hands with reverence, as if he might shatter. Cas cried a little, the tears streaming silently to add salt to their kiss. They clung to each other but hardly moved; this wasn’t sexual. This was a terrible, beautiful release. And they fell asleep like that, Castiel crading Dean with his IV-covered hand, whispering how Dean had been worth it. How every second had been worth it.

So Dean could hardly help how that blue jay induced look drew him in again, the desire to press himself against Castiel completely overwhelming. To breathe him in, feel his body heat so close. That seemed the only momentary cure to this heartache, and how screwed up was that? Here was Castiel, on his friggin deathbed, mumbling a soft “I know” to Dean to comfort him as their foreheads pressed together. When Dean should be the one doing all of the comforting. But it seemed Cas would be his guardian angel until the very end.

And that’s the way it was, those last few weeks; tiny shared moments, painful as they were beautiful. Castiel faded gently, sleeping more and more, to the point where he was only awake for mere minutes a few times a day. He didn’t say much, only tracking Dean with cloudy blue eyes. Dean would talk till he was hoarse, stretching on stories or anecdotes, just because once while they had laid together, Cas had whispered how much he liked the timber of his voice. He told him how he’d felt it in the depths of his celestial form when he’d raised him from the pit, the solid howl of Dean’s soul, crying out in utter joy of being rescued from his torment.

“I still hear that sound - in your voice, when you talk,” he said in that matter of fact way of his. “Saving you was my greatest accomplishment. I relive it when I hear you speak.”

Straight out of a crappy romance novel, the last time Castiel was actually awake, he’d told Dean that he loved him. It was a cracked noise, hard to parse out unless you had your head near Castiel’s. But to Dean, it was like the sound a church bell makes following a sermon. Stark and powerful and signaling the end. Dean kissed him quickly without responding because he needed to taste the lips that had just broken his heart so completely.

It wasn’t long after that they’d put him on a breathing machine, something Castiel had been fairly adamant about not wanting. There was a lot of DNR paperwork and Sam mumbling to doctors and nurses but Dean wasn’t listening to anything but that damn machine, and how it drowned out the sound of Castiel's breathing. In fact, it was such a melancholy relief to hear him breath again when they finally did remove it, though in truth, it was just the last of that forced air fading from his lungs.

Dean climbed onto the bed and wrapped himself around his angel, unashamed and broken. It was so blasted hot in that room, half from the bustle of people and half because he’d been sobbing. He buried his face in dark hair and tried not to think of how cold Castiel would soon feel.

“It’s ok Cas. It’s ok,” he whispered straight into his ear. “We’ll find each other again. Dammit, I promise I will find you. I swear it.”

Clinging tighter he heard the steady beeping slow, the monitors behind him beginning to indicate that there was a problem with the patient they were hooked up to. Someone blissfully turned them off, so that the only sounds in the room were of two grown men crying. Castiel didn’t move anymore, pliant in his embrace.

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry,” Dean gasped, struggling to find breath. “We couldn’t - we tried - dammit Cas. Dammit. I love you. You hear me? I love you so damn much.”

“Dean….”

* * *

 

“Dean!”

Dean’s face was blazing hot, and he gasped awake like he hadn’t been breathing, his body sitting straight up in bed. Castiel was right in his face, and for a moment all he could see was blue eyes, wide and panicked and inches from his own. He gulped air and gaped, rapidly trying to figure out how Cas had pulled through so quickly.

But they weren’t in a hospital bed, if the obnoxious floral comforter was any indication. Hotel room. Chicago. Case. They’d driven all day to get here….dammit, it was another dream.

“Are you ok?” Cas was still there, his concerned eyes darting across Dean’s features. Oh God, he looked so much better - a rose to his cheeks in the soft lamplight, his blue eyes bright. He must think Dean just had another nightmare. It wasn’t untrue.

“Yeah, I uh, yeah,” Dean started to pull back but found that he didn’t really want to. He wanted to reach out and run his hands along broad shoulders, to replace the feeling of ribs and cold flesh with a steady heartbeat and solid muscle. To solidify that was a dream, that he hadn’t actually lost his best friend. That everything was okay.

“You were crying.” Castiel reached out a hand, running his thumb along Dean’s cheekbone. It wasn’t until he was touched that he could feel how wet his face actually was.

“It was just a dream,” he shook his head and sniffled, rubbing his hand harshly against his face. Cas drew back, though he could still feel his hip pressed warmly against his own thigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Absolutely not. Did Dean want to tell Cas he’s crying because he had a dream that he died and he didn’t tell him in time how much he loved him? Nope that was not on the to-do list.

“Nah, I’m ok. Just the usual anyway - hellhounds and torture.” Dean gave a half smirk and Cas must have figured he wasn’t going to get much better than that, so he patted Dean’s knee and moved off the bed. He retreated to the little chair and table across the room, turning on another lamp and picking up a book he’d been reading earlier.

“I’m just going to, uh, grab some air.” Dean pulled the blankets aside and Cas gave a little nod but didn’t look up, his face practically buried in the pages of the book on rugarus. Which was probably for the best - Dean was only able to quickly throw on his shoes and jacket and run into the strikingly cold early morning air before he felt the pinpricks of tears again.

The building wrapped around to a small parking lot and the Impala stood in the moonlight shining like a safe haven. He slipped into the back, his thin pajama pants not shielding him from the cold of the leather. One deep breath in of the musty smell of motor oil and exhaust was all it took; he gripped the seat in front of him as he cried. The memory of losing Cas was still so potent and surface level, no matter how much he tried to tell himself it was a dream. It had felt so, so real. Each one had, actually.

But enough was enough, and as emotional as the dream had made him, he felt his temper swell. He was absolutely done being jerked around by his subconscious. As soon as this hunt was over he’d get serious about getting rid of them - for good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeahhhhh sorry about that. Bit of a sad chapter. But I needed for Dean to have a sad or two. It's for a good cause, I promise.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about that last chapter - I'm afraid this one isn't much happier. But we're getting there! Thanks for hanging in and thank you to all of you lovely people who are commenting - it makes my day!

**Chapter Seven**

 

“I mean, I’ll admit it looked pretty bad,” Sam said through a mouthful of burger. “But those cuts weren’t made by fangs or claws.”

“So our working theory is, someone killed this guy, and then roughed up the body to make it look like it was done by an animal?” Mary quirked her mouth. “Jeez, seems like a lot of work to throw the cops off your case.”

The boys shrugged in unison. After making their rounds with a less than competent sheriff and coroner, they’d camped out in Mary and Sam’s hotel room, spending the afternoon trying to make a case out of all of crime scene photos and folders of evidence. Cas hadn’t been seen all day - citing following some ‘lead’ in a different part of town. Dean couldn’t help feeling like something about last night had spooked him off. It had been awkward, sure, the way their bodies had been pressed together, Cas wiping his tears away. Maybe it was like that hunt in New Orleans, and he just needed some space. But the least he could do is help them with the case now, especially since he was the one who found it.

“You guys heard from Cas?” Dean asked as casually as he could. That is to say, probably not all that casually.

“Not since this morning.” Mary stole a fry from Dean’s pile. He frowned, but was actually beginning to enjoy his mother doing things like that.

“Jerk sent us on this wild goose chase, and then ghosted,” Dean grumbled, fumbling for his phone. “I don’t think there is a case here. Just some crazy person with a set of steak knives.”

Sam nodded, shutting the file folder he was holding. “Well, you want to pack up, leave tonight?”

“Nah - we’re already here. Might as well take the night off, go hit up some of the local nightlife.” Dean suggested, looking at his phone and casting a glance at his brother. Though it wasn’t unusual for them to find a watering hole wherever they go, it was early enough in the evening that they could probably visit some bar with ‘cultural significance’ that would satisfy Sam’s rekindled wanderlust. Right on cue his brother perked up significantly, quick to suggest a few different spots that highlighted the ‘real spirit of Chicago’.

They made plans to leave in a half hour, and Dean returned to his room to change from his monkey suit into something more casual. He found Castiel sitting on the edge of his bed, staring intensely at the purple and yellow striped wall across from him like it had wronged him in some way. His relief in seeing that Cas was okay quickly turned to frustration with the fact that he left in the first place.  

“Well there he is, the haloed angel from on high,” Dean said, letting the door close behind him. “Where have you been? We’ve got bupkis on this case.”

The insult snapped Castiel from his staring contest, and his eyes narrowed at Dean. It was a seething enough look to quicken his pulse, but he played unaffected as he sauntered across the room to grab some normal clothes from his duffle.

“I was checking out a lead of my own,” Castiel said cryptically.

“And how did that go?”

“I didn’t - unfortunately, I did not gather the information I was looking for.”

“And what information was that? Because we spent all day with the police and the families.” Dean pulled out a henley and gave it a courtesy sniff - it didn’t offend, so he added it to the pile with his jeans.

“It’s not of import.”

“Oh right. Because any time you tell me something is ‘not of import,’ that is one hundred percent the truth.”

He tried to tell himself that the door to the bathroom was just really heavy, and that’s why it slammed. In reality, the loud bang was slightly intentional and intensely satisfying. He began to strip and change, surprised when he heard a booming voice on the other side of the wall.

“ _ That was rude, Dean _ .”

That wasn’t Castiel’s irritated voice. That was his righteous anger voice. The kind he busts out when he’s tearing something apart to save humanity. A shudder ran through Dean from his head to his feet, but instead of apologizing or hell, at least putting on a shirt, he grabbed the door handle and yanked it open.  

“Rude?” Dean barked, stepping towards the angel, having only just managed to zip up his jeans, his henley strangled in his grip. “Rude is making us drive all this way for a dud! I didn’t go over the article you read or make any phone calls before we got on the road. I trusted your judgement, Cas. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Castiel’s steel gaze was fixed on Dean’s chest. He raked it over and dammit, was this another dream? Because Dean has caught himself being checked out plenty of times in his life and that is absolutely what Cas is doing right now. His body temperature raised a few degrees and he suddenly  _ hoped _ that he was sleeping, because then there was every chance that he was about to get slammed against a wall and taken so possessively and perfectly, he didn’t care about the damn drive.

“I know what’s best, Dean.”

Maybe it was the tone, maybe his inflection. But Dean’s heart stopped for a moment and he was back in  _ that  _ dream, ass presented for Cas, reveling in the punishment. Castiel had told him then that he knew what was best, and it was so hard not to get sucked back into that real moment, to let this mood shift to something much more heated. And the more he thought about it, the more he wanted it to. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth before answering.

“I’m not a baby, Cas.”

Dean had expected Castiel to react with exasperation or rage. Truthfully, any attempt of Castiel’s to usurp Dean’s self designated authority on ‘what’s best’ for him or his family is usually thwarted this way - with a biting word. Dean had thought it the perfect answer to Castiel’s obnoxious fatherly platitude. Until he realized they’d just played a scene out from the dream. Nearly word for word. And what’s worse, Castiel’s expression hadn’t changed to indignation - he looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“You - that was-”

Dean gaped, his heart in his throat as he looked over Castiel. Oh God, there’s no fucking way…..

“Have you been having - dreams?” Castiel’s voice was much quieter now, and he fidgeted his hands against his sides. Dean suddenly felt very naked, swallowing as he threw his shirt on.

“I don’t - we’re not talking about this.” Dean finally tore his eyes away and practically sprinted across the room, stuffing his feet into shoes and yanking his jacket from the chair.

“Dean, wait -”

The breeze from the door blew his coat up as he stepped outside into the brisk early evening. So distracted in an effort to get away from Castiel he fully missed his baby brother turning the corner towards him. They slammed into each other, knocking the wind out of Dean.

“What the hell?” Sam sputtered, but Dean was moving again, clearing his throat as he reached for his keys, the Impala in his cross hairs. His body was on autopilot, and he needed to get as much distance from Castiel as possible to process everything that was happening.

“Where are you going?”

“ _ Out! _ ”

Slipping into the driver's side door, he reached forward to put the keys in but paused as the passenger door opened with a creak. Sam hopped inside quickly, like he thought Dean might pull away before he was able to. He wasn’t wrong.

“Get out Sam. I need some air.”

“You mad at me?”

The engine turned over but the question caught Dean’s attention as he turned incredulously to his brother. “What?”

“Are you mad at me?” Sam repeated, his mouth a thin line.

“No”

“Then I’m coming. Drive.”

“I don’t need a fucking chaperone -”

“Dean -  _ DRIVE _ .”

He shut up and threw the car into reverse, peeling out of the parking lot. That part was at least satisfying, like punching a wall. Gripping the steering wheel like the planchette on a Ouija board, he let his baby steer him away towards some kind of an answer. Towards the distance he needed. Sometimes the damn car just drives itself. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam quickly text, before shoving the phone back in his pocket.

“You didn’t need to come,” Dean murmured, still feeling the heat of frustration coiling in his gut. He pressed his foot harder against the pedal, letting the roar of the engine drown out his thoughts.

“I’m just texting mom where we are. Anyway you’re less likely to do anything reckless if I’m in the car.”

Fair point, but he didn’t admit it. They continued to drive in silence for some time, hitting the open road but never straying more than a few dozen miles from their hotel. It was like Dean was circling, not really wanting to be back but too tethered to be far away.

“I’ll drive all night with you Dean, but it’s gonna be easier if you just - heaven forbid - talked about what’s going on with you.” Sam didn’t turn to look at Dean and that was a kindness - he really didn’t want to feel any more exposed than he already was. He opened his mouth to argue, but maturity shut it again. He really could use an ear, as much as he hated to admit it.

“If I tell you - I need you to shut the hell up. Until I’m done.” Dean spoke through gritted teeth. The very last thing he wanted to do was to have the conversation out loud with Sam but the reality was, that this problem had just reached a whole other level. If he and Cas were having the same dreams, there was something else going on here.

“I can do that.”

Maybe Sam had been right to come, because the moment Dean started to speak he realized he wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on the road  _ and _ keeping his shit together, and decided to pull over. Sam sighed as gravel crunched under tires. Dean threw it into park but didn’t move otherwise, his grip on the wheel tight and his eyes facing forward to the dark two lane highway.

“I’ve been having these dreams,” Dean started, keeping his voice low. “About Cas.”

Mary and Sam were so alike in their empathy - his brother just nodded to encourage him to continue, much the same way his mother did.

“Every one is different - the first one, it seemed like we were on a case. It was at a karaoke night at some dive bar. And Cas sang a Doors song.”

“Cas  _ sang _ ?” Sam snorted. “And you didn’t know right then it was a dream?”

“Please save the comments from the peanut gallery until the end, Sammy.”

“Sorry…”

“And then we -” Is that relevant information? Dean paused too long trying to come up with a reason to not tell about the other part of his dream. Too long for Sam to not pick up what he was trying to say.

“Oh.”

“But the next dream was completely different,” he continued, chewing on his lips. “I was a mechanic, and I was fixing Cas’s Lincoln. I was me, and he was him but it was like, we were in a totally different life.”

“Like an alternate universe?”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah nerd, one of those.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but continued. “Was that it? Just those two?”

“I, uh, no.” Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If he was this nervous about talking about the dream, how is he going to deal with the very real feelings that these dreams were forcing into the daylight? He suddenly felt very weary and not just from his repeated lack of sleep; this secret has been weighing him down for weeks.

“The next one we were, uh, you know - lovers. Husbands. We were retired, out of the life.” Dean hastened a glance at his brother, as it was suddenly almost killing him to not know how he was reacting. Sam’s expression was pure concern, of course. Sometimes he doesn’t give his punk brother enough credit ; he knew how much this is killing Dean to speak out loud.

“That - sounds - nice?” Sam questioned with a furrowed brow.

Dean clenched his teeth shut at Sam’s evaluation. “Wasn’t terrible.” But as soon as the words come out of Dean’s mouth, they sting. And so Dean braces himself to elaborate on just how  _ not terrible _ that life had felt. “Sammy, honestly - I think that’s the happiest I’ve ever felt. I didn’t even know I could feel that happy. It was an honest to goodness apple pie life.”

He stared down at his hands, open palmed and overheated. Flipping them he rubbed them roughly against his jeans before continuing.

“The one after that wasn’t bad but trust me, not something you want to hear about,” he continued roughly. “The last one, I had last night. Cas was dying of, something. I don’t know, his vessel was just shutting down. We tried everything to save him. Everything. Nothing worked. And I watched him fade. Waste away on a fucking hospital bed.”

Dean stopped and angrily fought back the tears that welled at the corners of his eyes. “It was so fucking real, Sam. They all were. And Cas - I just found out he’s been having them too. The exact same dreams. So I ran.”

Dean finished his little speech with a heavy sigh. As expected, he didn’t exactly feel better with his dirty laundry strewn across the table but there it is. Sam didn’t really move, his eyes still searching his brother like something in his tense stature might give a hint of where to go from here.   

“Dean,” Sam leaned forward, “That sounds like magic. Witchcraft. I think you guys are under some sort of spell.”

Witchcraft? Dean had been so wrapped up in how these dreams were making him realize the emotions that had been right under the surface of everything for so long, he hadn’t stopped to consider that they might be fictitious. That someone might be implanting these dreams and into Dean, and it wasn’t just his subconscious trying to get him to come to terms with his feelings. It certainly made a lot more sense, given the fact that they were sharing them.

“You think?” Was all he could muster in response, his head still swimming.

“Yeah, I mean, of course,” Sam perked up. “What else could it be? People don’t just share dreams. And it sounds like yours were really - potent.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Isn’t that a relief?” Sam questioned gently.

Well it certainly should be, shouldn’t it? These dreams had been freaking Dean out from the start, causing him to wake in cold sweats struggling to figure out what was real. But if it wasn’t his brain, if it was actually some hoodoo hocus pocus projecting these dreams into his head - were these feelings fake too? There had always been something different about his relationship with Cas. Something - otherworldly, that he’d chalked up to angel mojo or the fact that the guy had literally pieced his soul back together. He’d really begun - unconsciously, he now realized -  to identify these feelings as romantic. But now faced with the fact that they might be fabricated he felt - sad? Lost? Disappointed? At the very least, and to his surprise - not relieved.

He hummed in response. Absolutely non committal. His lack of agreement wasn’t lost on Sam, but he didn’t push the issue.

Starting the car again, he took a deep breath. The rumble of the engine underneath his feet grounded him, giving him a foundation to think for a moment about this issue logically. “So, if it’s witchcraft, what do you think we should do? I mean, I don’t even know where to start with this thing.”

“Maybe we start with a witch?” Sam suggested, and Dean’s hands jerked the wheel. Sam was quick to clarify. “ _ Not _ Rowena. We know other witches, for crying out loud.”

“Got a problem with witchcraft, seek out a witch. Makes sense.” Dean repeated mostly to avoid saying anything else. And because burying himself in the idea that this was a case sort of pushed aside the underlying issues really at stake.

“We’ll make some calls - we’ll figure this out, Dean. I promise.” Sam’s broad hand fit around his brother’s shoulder as they pulled back into the highway. He always had a way of doing that - Sam would help him get to the bottom of this. He always does.

But the aching feeling in his stomach wouldn’t let up. How could he suddenly miss something he’d been so eager to push away?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! We're nearing the end - and hold onto your hats, this chapter's a doozey. It would have been out sooner but Rosie_Berber and I are collaborating on some deliciously smutty Christmas fic that sort of drew away my attention for a few days. Rest assured - you guys are going to love it!
> 
> As always, thank you for your comments and thank you again to Rosie_Berber, who digs into my chapters and sprinkles them with her brilliance.

**Chapter Eight**

 

“Alright, but if she starts chanting ‘light as a feather, stiff as a board’ I’m freaking out of here.” 

Dean climbed the narrow steps to a third story apartment just outside of Chicago. He had the unfortunate luck of following behind Castiel, and given the fact that the stairs were hardly up to code, he was sort of forced to face ahead and right into something he’d been trying to avoid for month or so - Castiel’s perfect ass.

He was so doomed.

The witch they found was a bit - unorthodox. Which in their line of work was really saying something. When they returned from their drive, Sam had made some calls whilst Dean searched the internet for more information on dream lucidity. To his surprise, Cas and his mother had been talking, and so everyone was on the same page - without more sharing of emotions and feelings - which was pretty much the best thing Dean had heard all freaking day.

Luckily Eileen was one hell of a resource, and she’d texted Sam the name of a witch just outside of town. Sam fed the witch’s information to Dean as he texted her back a small smile crossing his features.

“I dreamt about that too, you know,” Dean huffed, shoving his clothes into his duffel. “You and Eileen all kissy face and married.”

“What?” Sam choked, then looked down at his phone. His hair fell in his face and he quickly tucked it behind his ear. “Eileen? No. She - she’s just a good hunting friend. We need as many of those as we can get.”

“Uh huh.” Dean closed his laptop and took another cursory look around the room. Castiel had already cleared out his things after Dean had taken off. He was usually so meticulous about gathering the few belongings he had, but sure enough in his haste he’d forgotten his pajama pants, scrunched up and peeking from under the sheets of his unmade bed. Dean grabbed them and paused briefly as the blue sweats regurgitated the memory of peeling soft cotton off thick thighs. Making love to Cas, sweet and slow, in early morning light in their bedroom…..

“You alright there?” Sam asked, suddenly right behind him. Dean nodded and took a deep breath, stuffing the pants in his duffel and zipping it up.

“Yep. Super. Let’s go.”

* * *

 

The woman that answered couldn’t have been more than four feet tall. With the wide sweep of the door came the overwhelming scent of sage and patchouli. Bernie looked indignantly up at Cas and Dean, who stood shoulder to shoulder on a rickety porch.

“You must be the righteous man and the angel,” she said as she raised a grey unkempt eyebrow, sizing the two of them up. Dean felt himself shrink in the intensity of her piercing hazel eyes. He crossed his arms if only to regain a small sense of power in her gaze.

“Yea, I don’t think Eileen referred to me as ‘righteous’,” he said.

“Oh no, she didn’t say that, no, no.” Bernie turned from the door and started walking back into the apartment, which seemed to be enough of an invitation for them to follow. “No, I believe she referred to you three as ‘an angel, a handsome man, and his brother’.”

“Seems unfair to Sammy.”

“She meant me, you doofus. I’m the handsome one.” Sam and Mary brought up the rear, closing the door behind them and locking them in the incensed dungeon. The interior of the home looked like a dank new age gift shop - covered in draperies with Celtic knots in shades purples and blues, cheap desk fountains that were louder than the trickling water they pumped, the sound of a flute playing over bluetooth speakers, jagged crystals on every available surface. It was pretty much Dean’s version of hell.

“I knew she was deaf, but blind too? I mean - OOF!” Dean coughed as Sam jabbed him hard in his side. Castiel turned around with a raised eyebrow to the scene but could otherwise hardly be bothered. He seemed to want to get this over with as fast as Dean did. Fine by him.

“I just know things, you see. Keep following!” The sprite of a woman kept wandering deeper into the interior of the oddly large apartment. She disappeared into a room and they were quick to follow.

The decorations in the bedroom were much the same as the living room, except that the single queen sized bed took up almost the entire space. Like the stairs, it was hardly up to code and really seemed more like a closet space than a place someone would sleep.

“You two - lay down.” She beckoned with a pointed finger towards the bed.

“Woa, I don’t know what Eileen told you….” Dean began but she was already shaking her head.

“Eileen told me very little. I have the gift of sight, you see. Well, it’s a gift or a curse, depending on the day.” She fished around her pockets and finally drew a small floral Bic lighter, igniting some incense on a small nightstand. “I know you, Dean Winchester, have been called the righteous man. It is like a brand on your soul. A brand, no doubt, Castiel put there.”

Cas turned away, his shoulders hunched, but didn’t comment.

“You and Castiel have been sharing dreams? Very disturbing to you both, that much I don’t need prophesy to see.” The woman picked up the incense from the nightstand and blew on it, the embered tip turning bright red for a moment before smoking all the more. There was very little air circulation in the room though there was a small window, and the only light poured in from a streetlamp outside.

“Yes,” Dean grumbled - there was something so irritating about prophets. They’re so damn smug. “Can you break the spell or not?”

“Oh no, absolutely not. Lay down.”

“Look lady, we’re not laying down here if you can’t help us!”

The side of her mouth quirked, like she was trying to hold back a laugh threatening to spill. “I didn’t say I couldn’t help you and your angel, I said I couldn’t break the spell. Only you two can do that. I only provide the path.”

“What path? What the hell-?”

“Dean, maybe you should listen to her.” Sam piped up from the hallway, as there wasn’t enough room inside for all five of them. “It’s Eileen - she wouldn’t steer us wrong.”

Dean let out a frustrated breath before finally turning and meeting Castiel’s eye. It was the first time in a few hours he’d had the courage to actually look, and what he found there was - sadness. And a half hearted shrug.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Castiel began to slip off his coat. Dean fought the urge to reach out, to put his hand on his shoulder and comfort his friend. It was likely that was the last thing he wanted him to do. Cas probably just wanted this all to go away, go back to a time when Dean wasn’t disturbing his dreams every night.

“Fine.” Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and started to unlace his boots. “What do we do?”

“Lay on the bed and hold hands,” she began, rubbing her hands together. “I’m going to put you in a dream state and you’ll share another dream. It’s important for you to look for what is unusual about your dream.”

“You mean, besides the fact that we’re having them?” Dean quipped.

“There has very likely been a moment in each of your dreams that you’ve seen the answer you seek. You just did not have the lucidity to identify it. Or you were otherwise - occupied….” Bernie trailed off with a smirk.

Dean rolled his eyes and pushed himself up on the bed where Castiel was already lying stiffly. The comforter had a musty smell, as if the room needed to smell worse. Beside him he saw the quick rise and fall of Castiel’s chest, his blue tie falling against his side. There was no relaxing in this position, with his mother, brother and a crazy woman staring down at them. But when Castiel reached out and grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together, it was a small comfort.

“Take deep breaths, Dean and Castiel.” She picked up the incense and blew on it again. The smoke puffed across their faces and for a moment Dean couldn’t breath, it was so heavy. His lungs constricted and he instinctively grasped Cas’s hand a bit tighter. He responded instantly with a squeeze back. Dean’s mind felt heavy, the sounds of Bernie chanting something fading into the background until all he could feel was that soft palm within his own, and then nothing at all.

* * *

 

“You about done in there, Dean?”

Dean’s hands were covered in flour paste and sticky. The offensive patchouli and sage smell had faded completely, replaced with the scent of baking cookies. He looked down the butcher block in front of him, where he’d abandoned a decent dollop of dough he’d clearly been kneading. The familiar voice called out for him again, and he looked up through an open window in the kitchen into playful green eyes.

“Charlie?”

The redhead smirked, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Deeeeannn? I said, are you done? I could really use some help out here!”

“Uh, sure.” He darted around, trying to spot a rag to wipe his hands on before deciding the apron he was wearing would have to do. The industrial kitchen he stood in was quite small but well outfitted, and sort of boxed in - it took him a moment to see where the exit was. He pushed through the swinging door, practically knocking it off its hinges as he ran at Charlie, scooping her up into his embrace.

“Whoa! Whoa there! I missed you too big guy, those twenty minutes you were in the back working on pies,” she teased him gently but hugged back.

All at once his real life memories began to flood back in - the fact that this was a dream, and they were on a mission. Of course, he’d never dreamed about Charlie before and God, here she was, so freaking real and right in front of him. He’d be stupid not to admit for a moment that he will regret waking up and breaking this spell. He set her down gently, fighting back tears with a smile.

“It’s just - good to see you Charlie,” he said. Understatement of the year.

“Ok, well, it’s good to see you too. And if you’re done being extra weird, we have a line out the door. So….” she gestured towards the lobby of the little bakery he found himself in. Sure enough, fifteen people were standing in a line and watching his little reunion. It would have been more embarrassing if any of them - if any of this - were actually real.

“Right, sorry.” He walked over to the register and proceeded to ask the first customer for their order. The woman was quite rude, but what was more surprising is how easily everything was coming to him - she asked about the specials, and he just  _ knew _ them. He fiddled with the register like he’d been doing it eight hours a day for  _ years _ . He greeted customers with familiarity like this wasn’t the first time they met. It seemed like the dream lucidity was something he could switch on and off - his conscious mind running constantly in the background, he could fall into the tasks that dream Dean would normally be doing.

He wondered if it was the same way for Cas.

_ Cas. _

“Hey, uh, Charlie,” Dean asked, balancing two plates of muffins and placing them on the counter. “Have you seen Cas? Castiel?”

She rolled her eyes, taping the espresso filter to empty it. “Check the time, dummy. He’s pretty consistent.”

Dean’s eyes darted to the clock on the wall that was shaped like a pie. The red letters across the face boldly declared “It’s pie o’clock!” - and also that it was 8:58.

“Nine in the morning, every weekday morning, for the last three months,” she said over the sound of coffee grinding. Charlie flipped the espresso portafilter up like it was a microphone, pressing a finger to her ear. “Will this be the morning Dean Winchester asks Castiel Novak out on an actual date instead of falling all over himself to make him extra special pies and pretending he doesn’t have the world’s largest crush? Probably not, dudes - but stay tuned!”

Dean threw a bagel at her. She dodged expertly.

The bell on the door chimed and Dean’s heart lept into his throat as Castiel came strolling in. Luckily the morning rush had ended, and the crowd had whittled down to two people waiting for a coffee from Charlie. Cas’s blue eyes were wide, but his panicked expression didn’t match the rest of his demeanor - he was dressed sharply, in slacks and a button up. The pristine whiteness of his lab coat made the tan of his skin seem more olive. Dean was suddenly self-conscious, looking down at his old AC/DC shirt and jeans, covered in coffee stains and flour.

“Morning, Dr. Novak.” One of the women waiting for coffee grinned as Cas entered. But was this his actual Cas, or a dream Cas? The angel’s expression initially seemed obvious, but now he was chatting with the woman, evidently a patient of his. Maybe it hadn’t actually worked for him? 

“Hey, quit harassing our customers!” Dean tried, with a wink. Might as well play the part until he knew what version of Cas he was dealing with.

“Pardon me, Ms. Phillips.” Castiel pat her shoulder and turned to the counter where Dean was waiting. “I need to hurry and order before I’m thrown out for loitering.”

“You can loiter around here all you want, Dr. Cas!” Charlie beamed, setting down Ms. Phillips coffee and wiping her hands across her apron.

“Charlie?”

It was his surprise that gave him away - Cas was lucid. And it almost broke Dean’s heart to watch the emotions that he’d just experienced play across the angel’s features; shock and delighted surprise, fading to bittersweet understanding.

“Why’s everyone so surprised to see me today?” She quirked her mouth, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Anyway, didn’t you have a break you were supposed to take right now,  _ Dean _ ?”

Dean couldn’t stop looking at the way Castiel was still looking at Charlie, like his heart was shattering. He could blame it on the dream, but the reality was it was completely a conscious effort, the way he reached across the counter and grabbed Castiel’s hand, holding it within his own and squeezing. Castiel looked away then and back at Dean, his blue eyes shining.

“I know.” Dean mouthed, then straightened himself up and nodded towards the pastry case with a half smile.“Pick one out, Cas - my treat. Let’s talk.”

* * *

 

The dream inexplicably shifts, and they suddenly find themselves in a park in the middle of an unrecognizable but populous city. They’re dressed differently too - Castiel is far more casual, in a loose button up and jeans, while Dean was in a mostly flour free flannel. It was dusk - children in the playground were starting to be gathered by their parents, backlit by the oranges of an urban sunset.

“Well, that was weird,” Dean murmured, raising an eyebrow and turning defensively. But there was nothing nefarious in the park, save a few punk kids on skateboards rushing by. Seemed like, for the most part, this dream was much like the mechanic dream - no monsters or hunting, they were just two dudes living normal lives. Which, when you put it like that, it was almost difficult to remember why he wanted these to stop.

“Yes - logically I know that we just transitioned from the bakery to here, but I feel like also we had a very nice talk, and agreed to meet here on a date after I got off of work at the hospital.”

Dean couldn’t help the way Castiel’s furrowed brow made him smirk. He looked so angry at the situation, such a contrast to the pleasant nature of this dream.

“Best kind of talks - the ones I don’t actually have to have,” Dean smirked. “Well, I don’t know what we’re looking for, but I guess we’d better start looking. We’re burnin’ daylight.”

“Yes - I know you’re eager to stop these dreams. I was thinking if we split up-”

“Woa woa -  _ I’m _ eager?” Dean raised his hand slightly. “You were the one literally hopping into bed to get this show on the road.”

“Are you saying you haven’t hated these dreams Dean?” Piercing blue eyes seemed to drain Dean of whatever breath he currently had in his lungs. He shook his head, because he can’t possibly be saying that to Cas.

“I mean, I don’t enjoy them when I wake up,” Dean said. “But you know, my mind is all hocus-pocused in here. Like right now, all I want to do is run back to the bakery and hug the crap out of Charlie. I know she ain’t real and I know I’m going to be sad about that later. But now? I don’t know man.”

It’s slight, nearly imperceptible, really, the way the muscles in Castiel’s face soften - how the intensity in those creases in his forehead smooth. You wouldn’t notice it unless you were versed in the subtle nuances of Castiel’s expressions.

Dean notices.

With a laboured breath, the admission makes it past Castiel’s lips. “There have been - aspects - to these dreams I’ve enjoyed as well.” Again, Castiel’s face tightens as he finishes his oddly vague confession. Once again, the angel is a closed book. Did he mean - could he mean - even if he did feel in these dreams the same longing, how could either of them be sure that is actually real? And not just part of the spell?

Overthinking this was actually hurting Dean’s brain.

“Fuck it, Cas. Lets just go with it and figure out how to get rid of them.” He leaned forward and grabbed Castiel’s hand. It felt so good within his own, naturally slotting together. Cas looked down where they were joined and then back up, the edge of his mouth quirking to a smile.

They took off wandering, feeling almost like giddy teenagers in love. Maybe because that’s how the dream was supposed to make them feel - it was hard to tell fact from fiction. And Dean was sick of trying. He bought Cas a pretzel from a street vendor as they were closing up for the day, and they walked hand in hand as the city turned from dusk to darkness, oranges shifting to blues and blacks. As indiscriminate as the city was, it was beautiful. It was nearly Christmas time - the store windows lit up with displays of red and gold. And they talked about things in the real world like they might have over a slice of pizza with Sam and Mary - the only difference was they were holding hands. A silent agreement to let that part of the pretend continue.

They eventually found themselves at Castiel’s apartment, some adorable two story building built in the twenties and squished between two others - a neighborhood you might see in Manhattan or San Francisco. They waved to Jody, who was apparently a neighbor of Castiel’s in this dream. She quirked an eyebrow at him as she made her way inside, an incredibly obvious encouragement for Cas to invite Dean upstairs.

The hand holding was one thing - but being lucid and following Castiel up those stairs was an entirely  _ different thing _ .

Not that different, was, per say,  _ bad _ .

They stalled, their fingers still locked together as they talked. A sudden light flashed behind Castiel - two lights actually, headlights, headed straight off the street and at them.

“Shit! Cas!” Dean grasped him by the shoulders and dove to the side, narrowly missing being stuck by the Lincoln has it barreled into the sidewalk, crashing into the stairway they had just stood in front of.

All of that happened within the blink of an eye, but for Dean, in those seconds, time and his body slowed down. He saw the approach, the lights blinding him and coming closer - but to the left of the car, standing in the street and almost out of view from the bright light, were two oddly shaped monsters. One, twenty feet tall, green, slimy and all tentacles, waving frantically as the car passed. The other a shorter but bulkier robot, looking like a silvery something from an anime. And as quick as he saw them, they vanished, and he was on the concrete, his body on top and shielding Castiel’s. They were both breathing heavy, and Dean turned his head to face the angel’s, inches from each other.

“You ok?”

Castiel nodded, still clinging to the front of Dean’s shirt. The world around them started to come into focus. Dean did not move from the solid heat of the angel underneath him.

“Did you see that?”

“Whoa guys! That was close!” Jody’s voice came from above them and they both blinked, struggling to get up. Dean reached out a hand to help up Castiel and then brushed him off, picking a leaf out of his hair.

“See what, Dean?” Cas said, bustling over Dean, checking for cuts and scrapes.

“The, uh, tentacle monster thing. And the robot?” Dean looked up and down the street but saw nothing. Nothing that even looked like he could have mistaken it for a robot monster combination. Of all things that Dean has ever subconsciously visualized, those two would not be on that list. Castiel shook his head,

“But why does that sound familiar?” Someone had talked with him about tentacled monsters not too long ago. And robots. In their line of work, something that strange tends to stick out like a sore thumb. Who was that?

The realization hit him worse than the Lincoln would have. And he looked up at Cas, sighing and shaking his head. He loathed to end this dream because he still wanted to go find Charlie again and hell, he could admit it - he wanted to go upstairs with Cas and see what happened. But knowing who was screwing with him was definitely putting a damper on his mood.

“I know who it is Cas, who’s doing this - wake up.”

There was only a moment of confusion before he was inhaling that heady scent again, and he coughed as he regained consciousness. And groaned.

“Dean! You ok?” Sam called from the foot of the bed, and he opened his eyes to see his concerned brother, hands in fists like he was ready to fight.

He almost didn’t want to say it - the realization of what was really happening was now almost painfully obvious. He didn’t know how she did it but damn, he knew exactly who to blame.

“Fangirls, Sam.” He grumbled pulling himself up. Cas, next to him, rubbed his face and stretched. “They’re gonna be the death of us.”

“What!?”

“It’s Marie.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still trying to make my updates weekly! We're approaching the end, folks, of this story I love so, so much. Seriously, I encourage any of you to write the fics you want to read - it's so deliciously indulgent.

**Chapter Nine**

 

Sam blinked, a look of confusion spreading across his features. Dean paused only a moment to consider that perhaps that his brother hadn’t heard him correctly before deciding that he didn’t exactly care. Pushing his way down the bed roughly, he squeezed past him and Mary, wanting to see this apartment in his rearview mirror as soon as possible. The others quickly trailed in his wake.

“Who’s Marie!?” Castiel called, his voice grumbled.

“Dean! Wait!” Mary called, her voice full of worry.

“You’re welcome!” Bernie called, her voice irritatingly smug.

Dean was a freight train, already four steps out the door. He turned the key, tapping his fingers against the cold dashboard as the car shook with three additional bodies. The Impala peeled out of the parking lot and tore down the residential streets, making a beeline for the freeway. Frankly, it wasn’t going fast enough.

“Dean - you gotta stop and explain what’s happening here.” Sam was still gobsmacked, trying to process. “Marie is a just a  _ kid _ and that was some pretty strong magic - how do you know it’s her?”

“Who. Is. Marie?!” Castiel’s voice boomed from the backseat as they took a corner too fast.

“Marie  _ is _ a kid, and no Sam, I don’t know how she’s doing this. But it's her, it's frigging her.” Dean wrung his hands across the steering wheel. He felt hot and sticky, despite the chill of the wind flowing through his open window. “All of the dreams had this bright light that would sort of blind me, temporarily. It happened again and I saw just it - just outside of the lights -  on a friggin street in the middle of a city - a robot and a tentacle monster. You remember what she said?”

The dawning realization hit Sam like a smack across the face. “A - oh. From her play. She said her first draft had those or something? She had to cut them out.”

“Dean,” Castiel began, his tone pleading. Hastening a glance in his rearview mirror he could see confused and angry blue eyes hoping to catch his own.

“Cas - I didn’t tell you but a year or so back, there was this case, at a school,” Dean began, trying to avoid directing the rage he was feeling directly at him. “Bunch of girls made up a play about the Supernatural books. It was, uh, weird, to say the least. The kid who wrote it, Marie, she said the first draft of the play had robots and tentacle monsters in it.”

“That sounds like a very inaccurate interpretation of your lives.”.

“Ya think?!”

“Anyway,” Sam said, redirecting the tension. “Where are we going now?”

“To Marie. To get her to stop whatever the hell it is she’s doing.” Dean explained slowly, as clearly Sam wasn’t paying any frigging attention.

“You’re just going to run in, guns blazing, to a school? Dean, we don’t even know if she’s there anymore.”

“Flint is four hours from here - I can make it in three.” Dean pressed harder on the pedal. “Besides, we don’t have any other way of getting ahold of her.”

“I can go to the school - see if she’s still there.” There it was - the mission. And as soon as Castiel figured it out, his entire demeanor changed, his posture going rigid, his broad hand gripping the bucket seat behind Dean’s back. Gone was the perplexed and confused angel, replaced with all of God’s fury contained in a khaki trench coat. At least he seemed as serious as Dean was about getting this done, unlike Sam.

“It’s St. Alphonso’s Academy,” Sam supplied quickly, “I don’t remember her last name, but you should be good to ask-”

_ whump whump _

“He’s not very good at waiting,” Mary mumbled, her arms crossed, now alone in the backseat. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”

The Impala roared along the I-94, Dean’s lead foot acting as an anchor to keep him in this moment. He was honestly grateful for the silence. It gave him a chance to breathe and think. Try to catalog the whirlwind of emotions that were going through his head. The layers kept stacking the more he explored - rage, frustration, sadness. He hated leaving that dream without saying goodbye to Charlie. And, if he was really being honest with himself, he hated even more leaving it all without dragging Castiel upstairs for one last go before the illusion of all this was shattered.

“Dean,” Mary’s voice came from the backseat somewhere around Gary, Indiana. “You wanna talk about the what happened?”

“I really don’t.” Dean felt weary, his hands clutching the steering wheel and his eyes squinting against the bright lights of the vehicles traveling the opposite direction.

“Alright, I didn’t want to have to do this - but I’m pulling the mom card.”

“What?” Dean furrowed his brow and glanced at his mother in the rearview mirror. She had a look of pure Winchester determination.

“The mom card - I’m your mother Dean, and sometimes I know what’s best. And what’s best for you right now is to just get it all out on the table.” She raised an eyebrow. “So spill.”

“Mom-”

“ _ Talk _ .”

Dean glanced at his baby brother who only gave a half hearted shrug and continued to look out the window. Fat lot of help he was going to be.

“It was nothing, Mom. I worked at a bakery, and Cas was a doctor.”

“Dean Winchester - give me a little bit more credit than that!”

Dean sighed - he’d talked about his feelings more in the last few weeks than he’d done the several years prior. Apparently this was going to be the real cost of getting his mother back. “And - we went out on a date.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“I felt - happy,” he answered through his teeth, his patience paper thin. “But none of it was real, because the dreams are just putting stuff into my head.”

“Wait - are you saying the dreams aren't real, or what you’re feeling for Cas isn’t real?” Sam cocked his head, annoyingly deciding to join the dogpile his mother started.

“Both, Sam. None of it is fucking real, and it’s irritating. Now can we drop it?”

“Ok whoa, look,” Sam said, taking a breath. “I - I wanted you to figure this out on your own, so I never said anything but - dude, you’re in love with Cas. You have been for like, years.”

“ _ Sam _ -”

“No wait, hear me out,” Sam continued while Dean briefly considered running the car into the concrete median to make him stop. “I know you guys have always had that whole ‘profound bond’ thing going on, but it’s more than that. I’ve never seen you act like that towards another person - not another woman, not even me. He’s more than a brother to you, and he has been for a long time. I just - thought you’d figure it out eventually.”

Dean chewed at his lip and focused on the highway. When had his life become this complicated? He’d never had to even think twice about the direction his heart was pulling him before - well, until Amara. And now he was gun-shy, thinking that once again, he couldn’t trust his own instincts. Because he felt, in the deepest depths of himself, that Sam was right. That he’d been in love with Castiel for years.

“Amara did a number on me, man,” he said. “Hard to determine what’s real.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. But you can trust me.” Sam’s voice was genuine, and Dean found it difficult to be all that irritated with that. “What you’re feeling isn’t fake. It may have been dragged into the light by these dreams - but it’s the real deal.”

“And we’re happy for you,” Mary chimed in, reaching across to grasp his shoulder. “Both of us.”

He wanted to unbuckle his seatbelt and tuck and roll out the driver’s door, he really did. But there was something so sincere in his family’s support that he forced himself to look it right in the face. Their overwhelming acceptance. Of him, of his feelings for Cas, of the choices he’s made. It made his vision fuzzy, made him want to pull over to the side for the road for a forceful group hug. He settled on a pinched look and a quiet affirmation. Which was for the best anyway, since Castiel chose that exact moment to jarringly apparate back into their moving vehicle.

The Impala shook with the impact, and Dean righted the wheel as Cas just started speaking without preamble.

“She’s no longer at that school - her friend Rachel says that she now attends Oberlin College in Ohio,” Cas said. “Marie went to study writing, and she says it has one of the best programs in the country, though it’s most known for its-”

“Yeah ok, we get it Cas. How far is Oberlin?” Dean barked at him, half from the shock of his arrival and half because he still wasn’t processing everything as maturely as he could have been. So sue him - he’s new to this bi thing. Or not new. Whatever.

Sam fumbled with his phone, the light casting brightly on his face. “It’s about five hours, give or take.”

“I will go on ahead, see if I can find where she lives.” Cas still had that single minded tone, but instead of filling Dean with confidence, it just made him want to make Cas pause and regroup. Because what if Cas was having the same thought process he was…..

“Cas, wait-”

_ whump whump _

“Dammit!” Dean slammed his hand against the wheel. “I hate it when he does that!”

“See? Bickering already like an old married-”

“If you value your life Sammy, you will not finish that sentence.”

* * *

 

They hit Oberlin just as the sun was peeking across the horizon. The clouds mimicked the flat landscape laid before him, and the way the sky faded from black to purple to blue reminded Dean of how he himself was changing, had changed. In a completely cheesy, chick flick moment kinda way.

His passengers were long since asleep but he wasn’t tired - whether it was from the small nap he’d taken in new age hell or from the way his brain wouldn’t seem to stop churning, it was hard to discern. But in those quiet moments he’d come to a few conclusions. First - that as much as he’d liked them, the dreams needed to stop. That was still the mission, and he was still raging pissed at Marie and however the hell she was doing this. But second - he needed to talk to Cas. Or maybe not talk, maybe just kiss. He’s always been more of a man of action anyway. A good, but rough grab, pull his angel close, tell him with his lips what he couldn’t speak out loud.

Of course, that doesn’t take into account the fact that Cas may not feel remotely the same way he does - he might have only been following along in those dreams. In fact, Cas  _ had _ seemed irritated and put off by them. Now that he thought about it, there was every reason to believe Cas had been pretty disgusted.

So, maybe he’ll keep his actions to himself.

He saw Castiel to the left of the Oberlin College sign, looking like a statue, staring at the oncoming traffic as if he’d been expecting Dean to pull up any minute. He likely had, with his wacky internal angel clock. Dean pulled alongside and rolled down his window, folding his arm around the sill.

“What’s the word, Cas?”

Castiel rolled his eyes, but gave a half smile.

So they were ok, then.

He opened the door to the backseat and climbed in, pointing his hand past Dean’s shoulder and straight ahead. “Marie lives here in the dormitories. I snuck into the records room to determine what building and room she is staying in. If you drive around this building here and go straight, it should be down that road.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t already try.”

“Given that this young girl doesn’t know me, I determined it would be better to wait and speak with her when you arrive.”

“Yeah, you can be pretty intimidating.” Dean found himself saying. Was that innuendo? Did he want it to be?

He was saved from his latest bout of overthinking by stirring passengers, who were promptly brought up to speed by Cas as Dean found parking.

“Let's do this.” Dean exited the car and Cas was right on his heels, Mary and Sam bleary-eyed and tailing them. He hastened a glance at his phone, the lock screen reading 6:43 in the morning. She was likely in her room and asleep - and he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt at rudely waking her up.

From the outside the dorm looked more like an old mansion than an apartment, but inside they found a more modern interior, and an elevator to take them to Marie’s floor. Seven steps and three pounds later, Dean and Cas found themselves face to face with a very sleepy, beret free college freshman. Her dark short hair stuck halfway up the right side of her head and she had crinkles in her cheeks from the pillow. But her roughly appearance didn't stop her eyes from lighting up as recognition fell across her features.

“Dean!” She smiled with enthusiasm, then looked behind him, her face lighting up with recognition. “And oh, Sam! Uh, hi!”

“Hey Marie.” Dean might as well have been a doormat with the way she straightened herself up and gazed over him at Sam, smoothing down her hair and pulling at her long pajama shirt. “We need to-”

“And you must be….” She looked the angel up and down before exclaiming.  “Castiel! Seriously? Wow. Your eyes really are that blue…”

Something in Dean did not like the way that Marie was ogling. He opened his mouth to speak again but Marie was already peeking behind Castiel’s shoulder.

“And who are you?”

“This is our mom, Mary.” Sam’s voice was still irritatingly rational. Dean wanted to elbow him in the ribs. Didn’t he realize how serious this was? Or maybe his brother was overly sympathetic because this little witch had a crush on him.

“No.” Marie’s jaw dropped.

Mary perked up. “Uh, yes?”

“Shut. Up.”

“Uh, what?”

“This is GREAT NEWS!” Marie's voice rang loudly in the hallway, and she clapped her hands together, her smile widening. “Oh, you're going to have to tell me everything. This is so important for Sam and Dean's character development. Oh and so important for the fans, you know, to see positive female role models in the series. You know, as long as they don't get killed her off….”

“What!?”

Oh God, the books. They’d hadn’t told Mary about Carver Edlund’s series. Just add that to the list of ‘things Dean would willingly cut off his own toe to be spared from explaining to his mother’.

“I mean, Supernatural has a history of using women as plot devices to-”

“Marie, enough with the meta!” Dean barked and the small girl cowered. He felt terrible immediately for using intimidation, but he very swiftly running out of patience. “We’re here because of the magic you’re using on Cas and I. It needs to stop.”

“Magic? What are you talking about? I’d never touch the stuff! Not since Calliope!” There was a sincerity in her tone, and she folded her arms. “Do I look like an idiot?”

“Look, you can drop the act - Dean’s just pissed, but I’m sure you didn’t mean any harm.” Sam tried, his voice considerably more calm than his brother’s. He shifted around Dean to stand between the two of them. “Cas and Dean have been having these strange dreams and in every one, there has been a tentacle monster and a robot. We know that’s your signature move.”

If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d think the young girl looked genuinely perplexed. She bit at her bottom lip, not even flinching when a beeping erupted from the small room. An alarm, and from the sound of it, hers wasn’t the only one - in the thin hallway they began to hear students stir, exiting their small rooms and head toward the bathroom, getting ready for the day. It was about to get very crowded where they stood - not exactly the best place for the showdown Dean was expecting.

“Wait - what happens in the dreams?”

Dean took a labored breath - he was straight up exhausted with explaining them. Fortunately it seemed that Castiel was not. The angel spoke up, though Dean was relieved to hear that his tone was measured - he was still pissed. Something about the fact that they were at least in solidarity in anger at Marie was a comfort.

Except once Castiel began to describe the dreams, he didn’t feel so solid. The way he spoke of them like memories he treasured, not fabricated illusions that had greatly pained him. It was then Dean began to allow himself to believe that Castiel had enjoyed them - had wanted them - as much as he had.

“There was also one in New Orleans, in a vamp nest,” Castiel continued, flashing a glance at Dean. “Dean did not survive that dream.”

“I didn’t have that one,” he confirmed, meeting his eye. “But that explains why you were worried.”

“In each dream, Dean and I were involved in a different love story.” Castiel spoke this last sentence directly to Dean. The words cut across the short distance between them, raw and bare, and although he logically understood what the words meant, the angel’s expression bore a very different meaning.

_ Oh. _

There was that same look - the one they’d shared as husbands.

His blue eyes shone, shy and determined, pointed yet soft. His lips parted slightly, his forehead smooth and unworried. It was a look of assurance, of understanding. A look of baring one’s innermost self to the one person you trust most.

It was a look that was only broken by a quiet gasp from Marie. Dean blinked and turned to her, where she was frantically glancing between himself and Cas with a hand drawn to her face.

“Oh no,” she said. “Oh no, no, no. This was not supposed to happen.”

Sam reached an arm forward, delicately placing it along Marie’s shoulder. “What’s happening?”

“We, uh - you just described our fanfics.  _ All of them _ .” Her eyes grew wide and she looked down in shock. “We had this chant and -”

The incessant beeping of the alarm clock was silenced, but the noise was replaced by the murmur of students filling the hall. Hurried, sleepy bodies pushing past the four of them in the narrow space. It was getting decidedly too crowded.

“Can we take the conversation somewhere else?” Sam mumbled, shifting as another zombied student lurched past.

But Dean was stuck on a fixed point. “We? Who’s we?” he demanded.

“Uh yeah, there’s a mess hall downstairs. Let me just grab my stuff and throw on some clothes-”

Marie turned from the doorway to shut it but Dean threw a hand out to stop her. It slammed against the wooden door with a startling bang.

“Marie - who are you working with?”

She looked genuinely frightened as she met his eye.

“You guys remember Becky?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks, we've come to the end of our story. Well - I say end - there will be an epilogue. Truly I intended to post them together, but it absolutely needs tweaking and well, I thought I'd left you guys on the hook long enough for this chapter. 
> 
> We join our boys as they've discovered Marie's accomplice - but things aren't always what they seem.

**Chapter Ten**

 

“Excuse me.” 

The body of yet another oblivious college student collided with Dean’s shoulder as the hungry college masses began to pour into the crowded mess hall.  For its high, skylighted ceilings the room still felt tight, packed to the brim with kids inhaling anything from breakfast burritos to Pop Tarts. They sat off to the side with their coffees. He seethed and sipped quietly as Sam led the charge to grill Marie. It had been decided by silent unanimous vote, after the look he’d flashed his brother following Marie’s question said, quite clearly, “I’m going to murder her now. Step aside if you want to avoid getting blood in your precious hair.”

“We met at a con, about a year ago,” Marie mused, her hot chocolate leaving a film of whipped cream across her upper lip. It made her look younger than she was. “She was sitting next to me during a panel on, uh, _ shipping _ .”

Her raised eyebrows drew flat looks from the two Winchesters, clearly knowing exactly what she was talking about. The other two sitting at the table were wise enough  to keep their questions to themselves.

“Turns out, we ... sail aboard the same ships. So we decided to have a drink after the panel to discuss ways we think Carver can actually make them canon. We got to talking and eventually figured out that we’d both met you two before. The real you two.”

Dean couldn’t help himself, grumbling.“What, so, you decided to screw with us?”

Marie shook her head, looking desperate. “No, I told you. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You guys saved my life - and hers. We’re just writing fanfiction - nothing more. If you don’t believe me, you should ask her!”

“I could go get this woman, bring her here,” Castiel said from his place beside Dean. They met eyes and Dean considered - he was pretty pissed, but sending a strange and agitated angel to yank Becky from wherever the hell she was felt, well, extreme. Even for them.

“Oh, you don’t need to do that. Wouldn’t want you to waste any mojo.” Marie pulled at her backpack, retrieving a laptop and resting it on the table. “I was supposed to Skype with her today about our latest fic anyway. I’ll just call her.”

“That’s not how my powers work…” Cas murmured, and Dean suppressed a laugh.

Sam quickly filled Mary in what exactly Skype was just as a familiar, if grating, sound came alive over the small speakers.

“Marie! I read your latest chapter last night, and holy cow, that smut was unreal-”

“Hey Becky! Look! I have guests!” Marie interrupted what was sure to be something Dean didn’t want to hear, turning the computer around in a circle to showcase a very grumpy Team Free Will. Becky’s over enthusiastic smile somehow doubled, splitting her face as she excitedly said hello to every one of them, pausing at Mary.

“Is that...?”

Marie nodded so hard, Dean thought her head might fly off. “Becky - they brought Mary back! Actual canon!”

The noise that erupted from the two women was on par with a tea kettle and frankly, not helping Dean’s effort at self-restraint. You know, to not go on a murderous rampage, a mess hall full of students be damned.

Sam thankfully took the helm, carefully explaining the situation for the second time that morning to a very attentive Becky and Marie, who looked as if she might like to eat him for breakfast instead of that Pop Tart she was picking at. Sickeningly sweet as it was to see his baby brother so adored, Dean turned his attention back to the coffee as he heard the descriptions again, remembering how differently they’d sounded from Castiel’s lips just an hour before, spoken with reverence.

But in case he was worried the angel’s heartfelt look at Marie’s dorms had been imagined, Castiel’s hand came into his field of view. His fingers lightly grazed across Dean’s knuckles as he grasped the cooling mug. It wasn’t an enormous gesture - a student from the next table over might not even see it between book bags and hunched backs.

But to Dean it stopped time.

“Oh God, guys, I’m so sorry.” Becky’s voice broke across the speakers as Sam finished his explanation. Castiel’s hand jumped away at the noise as Marie turned the computer towards the two of them once again. “I think I know what this is. Jeeze - talk about amateur hour! And I’m supposed to be a professional now!”

“You’re hunting?!” Dean barked, nearly topping over his coffee. There was a slight delay in the Skype feedback and for a moment, Becky was frozen in an annoyingly sympathetic gaze. Suddenly the screen switched, her wide eyes panicked and her arms gesturing wildly.

“Oh, God no! No no, I’m helping. I run a wayward house out here in Delaware,” she continued as the sound and picture finally synchronized. She straightened the blue robe around her neck and raised an eyebrow. “You guys remember Garth?”

“Yeah, but I thought you guys, you know, split?” Sam asked. Dean rolled his eyes - his brother remembers far too much about his biggest fangirl’s personal life.

“Yeah, we didn’t work out. We’re still great buddies, though. But that’s not the point!” She leaned in closer to the screen, darting her eyes around the camera before focusing on it, almost as if she was checking to see if she was alone. “Garth and I work together now. He sends, uh, a particular kind of person, my way, if you get my drift. And I help them transition from their old way of life to their new way of life.”

“This is sounding more like a Caitlyn Jenner thing than a monster thing,” Dean grumbled, throwing up his hands. “What does this have to do with us?”

Marie flipped the computer around, throwing a ‘just a minute’ gesture at Becky. She hit a few keys before continuing. “I just put her on mute. She’s trying to keep it hush-hush - you never know who is listening. Basically she has a home where people can stay if they’ve been affected by the supernatural and need to get back on their feet. She tries to keep it quiet because some of them are on the run from vampires, werewolves - you name it. Sometimes they just need a day or two to heal physically or emotionally, and sometimes they need to start their lives completely over again.”

“That’s - uh….” Whatever Dean was expecting Becky’s day job to be, it wasn’t helping the people he and Sam frequently leave in their wake. Actually-

“That’s amazing,” Sam breathed, his lips drawing back to a smile. “How long has she been doing that?”

“Just about a year or so. But she’s already had, I think, six people come in and out of her house.” Marie looked proudly at computer, then back at Sam. “One guy, he lost his whole family to vamps. She sat on a couch for almost a month straight with him, just watching Cheers reruns until he started functioning again. They keep in touch - he’s doing much better now. I think he moved out here, actually, started working again.”

“What a wonderful idea.” Mary reached across the table to lay her hand on Marie’s forearm. Marie patted it gently, but shook her head.

“That’s all Becky. I’m too busy with school to help most of the time, though one of the girls she had through the house liked to write so we would swap stories back and forth. Mostly fluff - she couldn’t handle anything too emotional.”

“Marie - that’s great, really, but - the dreams? Can we get back to that?” Sam nodded toward the computer.

“Oh, sure, sorry.” She hit a few keystrokes and Becky’s voice came alive again, this time chiding what Dean hoped was a pet. Or, otherwise, a very friendly houseguest.

“Get off my lap, Gabriel!”

Sam flinched, taking a measured breath. “Becky - the dreams?”

“Oh right! So I think that it’s from this chant,” she said, holding up a small post it note. “I got it from this guy  a while back - he said that it would help me write. Be my muse, I guess.”

“We started using it together when we were co-writing stories. Well, _ Destiel _ stories.” Marie bit at her lip, looking at Dean and Cas squeamishly. “We thought it would help. See, you two aren’t our normal ship, but we were trying to expand our writing horizons. So we were kind desperate for inspiration.”

“Dare I ask…?” Sam started.

“Sam -  _ seriously _ !?” Dean barked.

“Sabriel - obviously.” Marie rolled her eyes.

“Sabriel?” Sam chewed on the word for a moment, before the realization fell upon him and suddenly this situation was a little less funny to him. He straightened up in his seat and cleared his throat.

“Where did you find this chant? In some kind of spell book?” Castiel grumbled.

“I got it awhile ago,” Becky said. “From Chuck actually. You know, the author of the books, aka Carver Edlund? Remember him?”

_ Seriously?! _

“Oh, you just mean the biggest troll in the history of the universe?!” Dean’s voice raised above the muted murmur of the room, and a few of the students glared at his from across their Eggos. Whatever chill he was maintaining was absolutely gone. Of all the dirty tricks….

Sam had his face buried in his hands. “You mean to tell me that Chuck gave this to you? Did you tell him what you were doing?!”

If looks could kill, Becky and Marie would both visited by Billie or one of her accomplices in the very near future. Because the Winchesters were both shooting them glares that were slightly more terrifying than venturing into the deepest abyss of what ao3 could throw at a girl. And so Becky speaks slowly, deliberately when she answers her once husband. “I did tell him I was having some trouble writing Destiel fanfiction, and he suggested that I use it. Why?”

“Oh my God, he wanted this to happen.” Sam bellowed mournfully, looking between Dean and Cas who sat in the back of their seats, half in shock, half in anger. “God wanted you two to hook up. Like, an actual match made in heaven!”

“What do you mean, God?” Becky said - and then it was all too much for Dean. The implication that he’d basically been set up a big cosmic Tinder date with his best friend - and that it had worked. He sat up sharply, his chair slamming into the back of another student’s who protested loudly.

“I need air.”

* * *

 

Thankfully the air he received was fresh, smelling of early winter. He sat on a wooden bench with a small plaque, dedicating it to someone with a rich sounding last name. Might have cost them a small fortune, but that didn’t mean it was comfortable, and he shifted stiffly from one cheek to another, watching the students hustle by. It wasn’t as if he’d spent hardly any time on college campuses, but he had to admit he’d expected it too feel a lot more like a party. Instead all he’d found was a bunch of Maries, studiously rushing to class and eating relatively healthy breakfasts. What a drag.

“Mind if I join you?”

He’d been expecting Castiel, though if that was because he knew his best friend so well or because they were somehow linked, he couldn’t say. He supposed it didn’t really matter as he nodded his assent, the angel taking a seat a hair closer to the hunter than he might have a few weeks ago. If Cas thought it would go unnoticed, it didn’t - but then again, Dean’s always been vigilantly aware of Castiel’s every move.

“So - now what?”

Castiel pursed his lips and stared ahead. He let out a quiet breath that puffed mist into the crisp air. “Now - I think we have to be completely honest with each other. Our friendship has born worse injuries than this, but I do not want to test those limits.”

“Honesty, huh?” Dean stretched his legs out in front of him. “You know I suck at this talking thing.  Hell, you know that better than anyone.”

“I’m aware of your strict dedication to avoiding conversations of weight.” A small smile crossed the angel’s face. “I’ll try to make this as painless as possible. Would you like me to go first?”

Despite the kind, even tone, Dean still felt the fluttering of nervousness in his stomach. He swallowed, trying to seem unaffected. “Sure - shoot.”

Cas still didn’t turn to face him, but Dean could see the small clenching of his fist against his side. “I thought at first these dreams were my subconscious trying to tell me something. Which would be highly unusual, as angels don’t really have a subconscious mind. But as I’ve grown closer to humanity - as I began to connect - I’ve experienced emotions that in thousands of years I’d never felt before.”

Wow - Cas wasn’t kidding about the emotional honesty thing. Dean dug his fingers into the top of his jeans, as if to force himself to stay sitting. They were mostly alone now, the bustle of students  down to a trickle now that it had passed the top of the hour.  

“I supposed it was a reaction to your near-death with Amara,” Cas continued. “My relief in seeing you alive was conjuring these elaborate dreams to act on my, uh, existing feelings.”

There was a pointed silence following the admission, and Dean wondered if he should speak to it, or let it pass. Feeling cowardly, he bit his tongue.

“When I learned that they had been implanted - I was really angry. But mostly for you, Dean. I didn’t want you to be forced into something like that, when I knew that was not something you wanted.”

“That’s not  _ completely _ true.” Dean found himself saying, before clamping his teeth on his traitorous tongue once again.

“I was never mad at you,” Cas finished with a sigh, finally turning towards Dean. “I hope you know that.”

“I’m not mad at you either Cas. I-” Dean sat up straighter, trying to find the courage to meet Castiel’s eye.

He didn’t find it.

“Look - Amara screwed me up, ok?” he tried, his voice strained. “What I felt for her, man, it wasn’t real. But I couldn’t control it - I was like a moth to a friggin dumpster fire. And when I found out these dreams were fake too? It took me right back there. Like I can’t even trust my own guts.”

“I understand.”

It was the sadness of Castiel’s tone that did him in ultimately. And so Dean finally found the courage to turn and meet those blue eyes halfway. They were dejected, Castiel’s mouth curled into a sad smile, one that tried to mask the rejection he felt. He didn’t want Dean to continue - he thought he understood the direction of this conversation. Dean could have left it like that, letting his best friend think that his sun didn’t rise and set with every action Castiel took. How those dreams, confusing as they’d been, had made so crystal clear the feelings that had screamed beneath  Dean’s skin since that barn eight years ago.

How much he needed this man in ways they’d only begun to explore.

“No - you don’t…”

No more words. Because if there’s one thing Dean Winchester  _ is  _ at it’s this.

Taking action.  

He leaned across the bench, closing in on the small space between them. There was really only one way of knowing what was real and what was fake. One way he really hadn’t tried yet.

Cas watched him with an expression of panicked hopefulness, which outwardly shone as wide eyes and full, slightly parted lips. Lips that drew Dean in heavily like gravity as he pressed his own gently against them in a test.

He drew a sharp breath, the air between the moist and warm. Castiel hummed with surprise, raising his hands to cup Dean’s face, cooling the flush that filled his cheeks. Hands that had once held him in hell now holding Dean in a wholly different type of rapture. One of adoration and worship, where Dean felt nothing short of cherished.

Those hands really could work miracles.

With his own fingers grasping suddenly at Castiel’s lapels, tugging his body close, the rest of the world fell away.

Because once more it’s as if they are the inhabitants of that dream of the early morning, that one of love and lust and laughing, the one where his happiness was so full his heart could have burst. Only now as he drew away, resting his forehead against Castiel’s and catching his breath, he smiled with newfound knowledge. That apple pie life with this man is not a just dream anymore. This is real. This is happening.

“But I can trust that,” Dean whispered, and Castiel’s eyes crinkled with a grin. “Do you understand, now?

“Yes Dean, I think you’ve made your point very clear.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, you got me - a redemptive arc for Becky. Had to be done. My real name is Becky and something about her portrayal as a pathetic fangirl type always struck a nerve with me. 
> 
> Stay tuned for an epilogue - because I always have to end things with lots of fluff and sex.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are - at the very end. I want to thank all of you who've followed this story; this was truly a labor of love for me. I'm quite happy with the finished product, which is very weird and I sort of wonder if I'm losing my mind.
> 
> I owe so much to my darling muse and beta [rosie_berber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosie_berber/pseuds/rosie_berber) who works tirelessly on her own stories and then always makes time to listen and assist and sprinkle brilliance all over my writing. That last line? Totally hers. And it's my favorite. 
> 
> We rejoin our boys some time later and a great deal happier than they were before....

**_Epilogue_ ** _**\- 6 months later** _

 

Castiel suddenly jumped a few feet to the left.

Dean wasn’t nearly as quick - he’d likely attribute it to old age, or all those times something otherworldly has tested his head’s rebound abilities using a wall. In reality he was just too distracted, looking into Castiel’s eyes like the love drunk fool he liked to pretend he wasn’t. It wasn’t his fault that he was  _ still _ trying to pinpoint their exact shade of blue. Sapphire? Sky? Ocean?

Either way, he was now covered in a shovelful of grave dirt.

“What the hell, Claire?!” His voice was booming, as threatening as he could make it. It had little effect - being met with a chorus of giggles from about four feet underground.

“That’s what you get for calling us slow, old man!” Claire called up, and he dodged another shovelful as it sprang into the air.

“By the time I was your age, I could dig a grave by myself in half the time it’s taken you two,” Dean said, dusting the dirt from his pants. “We’re about an hour in and you ladies look about five feet down. Pick up the pace!”

Grumbled curses erupted from the grave, too low to be insulted by. The dirt flew slightly faster from the pair of shovels. Dean looked up towards Castiel, now standing across the grave from him. His figure was darkly silhouetted, the headlights of the Impala burning brightly behind him. It was still a light enough Kansas evening to make out the half smile that creeped across his angel’s face.

They were both dirty and tired but damn proud. The kind of pride you feel where you’ve worked so hard there’s dirt under your fingernails that will take weeks to wash out. Their “simple” salt and burn had been anything but standard. Yet, all things considered, today was a win. Though lately, that was more the rule than the exception.

Disturbing the dead aside, life had changed so much in a few brief months. Finding out about Becky and her budding network had inspired them to make some significant modifications to their lives. The first of which was to not only begin to use her as a resource regularly, but to help her create a more sustainable, bigger safehouse than before. And that’s where Sam came in. His academic mind and need to do something outside of hunting culminated in his epiphany, a week or so after they’d gotten back from their trip.

“I’m going to go back to school!” he declared, to mixed reactions. Mostly, a chewed up tongue from his brother.

But his plan was simple and sort of brilliant. Becky had discovered that there was a tremendous need for these people (the victims of the supernatural) to have good legal counsel. Someone who understood the life, and could create legal workarounds for people to receive disability, homeowners insurance payments, prove wrongful death suits - in short, help put their lives back together by whatever means necessary.

Of course Sam would be a natural at that - Dean never had any doubt. He even managed to say so with  _ actual _ words (albeit begrudgingly and with a prod or two from Cas). The smile those words got in response was long overdue - Dean hadn’t seen his brother that kind of happy in over a decade.

Within the week, Sam was signed up for online classes, and he started school just a month or so afterward. Dean would find him most days in the study or his room, earphones in and game face on. He’d hip check his chair, or flip close an opened book - something to annoy Sam. The jab was usually met with a grin, and the understanding that was it really meant was -  _ I miss you _ and  _ I’m proud of you _ .

Yeah so, maybe Dean had gone a little soft. Shadup.

Mary spent some of her time between the safehouse and the bunker - much to the delight of Becky (who had, thankfully, toned down the inner fangirl). Turned out Becky was reasonably skilled with spells, and together they warded the compound to a small fortress. Mary even took some time to teach her a thing or two about hunting. Mostly though, Mary liked to go exploring on her own - she’d disappear for a week or two, each time returning with a gaudy magnet from her adventure. They shone brightly against industrial chrome, and made Dean smile as he snuck in for a late night PB&J.

Which left Dean and Cas all by themselves. A prospect that should have sent Dean speeding down the road in the opposite direction except - it didn't. Instead there was subtle mutual exploration, hunting together and discovering what it was to be truly “a couple”. Turned out, it was dreadfully underwhelming in its lack of differentiation from how they’d been together as “only friends” - except for the sex. The sex was exceptional, and different, and challenging, but mostly - mind-blowing. And frequent. Very, very frequent.

They had to tone it down once they took Claire and Alex on as junior hunters. Both girls, having graduated from high school, felt the pull of the life in their blood. As much as Jody fought them on it, she could understand; after all, she’d fell in headfirst too. So they compromised - six months of hunter tutelage under Dean and Castiel (because damned if she wasn’t going to make sure they weren’t  _ well _ trained, if they were going to hunt at all), and then six months of community college. At the end of the year, they’d reevaluate the terms of their agreement, and go from there.

They were now finished with their first month of hunting, a truly  _ educational _ experience for all involved parties. Turns out, as unexpected as it was, Dean and Cas fell into “normal” parenting patterns. Dean was tough and abrasive, yet yielding and raw in quiet moments where the lesson was tangible but frightening. Castiel worried constantly, shepherding their basic needs and would then lay down firm guidelines, for them and for Dean, not to cross. You couldn’t ascribe them gender roles per say (Alex had once jokingly referred to them as Hunter Dads, something she’d undoubtedly picked up from Becky) but they worked so well as a united front, it was hard to believe neither had never actually had children.

“Little help here!” Alex called up, waving her small hand in Dean’s direction and he obliged, helping to hoist her out of the hole. Claire had already crawled her way out, filthy and pleased. Dean could see her teeth chattering in the headlights, and Cas evidently did too as he shed his trenchcoat and wrapped it around her flannel clad shoulders. She flashed him a small, grateful smile.

Dean held out a bottle of lighter fluid and matches to Alex. “You wanna do the honors?”

There was always something so grim about warming your cold and stiff fingers over the fire inside of the grave you just dug up. Dean had grown up with the melancholy of it, though as he thought back he could remember it took Sam many years to finally accept the warmth instead of flinching away with something resembling guilt. The girls were well on their way to acceptance as they chattered about “gravedigging and chill,” and he wondered how much different his life might have turned out if hunting had been like this for him - hard work, sure, but taught with love and laughter instead of vengeance and loneliness.

Not that he would have changed it. Not really. All of it had lead him here, to that otherworldly being a few feet in front of him, quietly picking leaves from Claire’s hair. That angel who has torn his world apart and put it back together.

The fire burned to embers and they helped the girls shovel dirt back into the grave. Dean couldn’t shake the feeling of reflection, catching Castiel’s eye, sneaking a rare kiss to his cool cheek.

“What was that for?” Castiel whispered as the piled into the car.

Dean smiled, but didn’t answer.

* * *

 

Castiel raised an eyebrow as Dean handed the girls a set of key cards. Neither Claire nor Alex were inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth, greedily snatching them and making their way towards their room a few doors down, chiming their good-nights.

“I thought we had maxed out that credit card,” Castiel said, tone conversational. But Dean knew him well enough, and the hunched shoulders - coupled with Dean’s unusual public display of affection earlier - had the angel alert.

“We did. I used Sam’s,” he answered, then smiled. “Look, we’ve been on the road with those two for four days. I think I’ve reached my limit of hair spray and giggle fits.”

“It  _ is  _ quite different to room with women. I didn’t realize how much I was used to exclusively male company until we agreed to take them on.”

“Are you complaining?”

Castiel let his hand rest on the small of Dean’s back as the hunter used the card to open the door. “About our female companions, or the exclusively male company?”

Dean huffed a laugh, flipping on the lights. The path to their room had been dark, and thankfully the only lamp that turned on was diffused and across the room. The single bed was inviting after their arduous day - but there were a few things Dean needed to get off his chest. All that nostalgia around the fire, and the changes from the last few months had his brain percolating. If Castiel noticed he didn’t ask, but then again, he’s usually pretty good about reading Dean. And letting him talk in due time.

They quietly settled in, plugging in their phones for a charge and rummaging through their duffels. Dean mumbled something about needing a shower, flipping the heater on as he stripped off his shirt. He reached the bathroom but frowned as he saw Castiel take a seat at the little table, grabbing at the binder of phone numbers and local takeout places.

“You coming?”

Cas didn’t need to shower of course, but he perked up just the same, quickly shedding his clothes as the room began to fill with steam. They hadn’t done this more than a handful of times, and truthfully they hadn’t had the opportunity to do it  _ before _ sex. But something about tonight was different - slower. More reverence for their quiet, alone time. Perhaps because they’d had comparatively so little of it in the last month.

Two grown men, slippery and hot, made for a very crowded shower, but neither paid it any mind.

“I like this,” Castiel grumbled, rubbing the soap between his hands. It smelled like oatmeal. “I like touching you, even when we don’t-”

“I know. Me too.”

They took turns and their time. Castiel’s hands looked like mittens of foam and he put them everywhere, paying as close attention to Dean’s crevices as you would polishing silver. The hunter wasn’t quiet - he never was, but especially when they were actually alone - and released breathless moans as the tension left his muscles. Of the realizations he’d come to in the last few months since they’d started all of this, perhaps the most surprising to him was how Castiel’s touch calmed him in mere seconds. If he’d really have given it any thought (and let’s be honest, he’d actively tried not to think on the subject for the better part of eight years) it would have made sense; in those tense moments between them, a touch of Castiel’s hand to his shoulder had centered him instantly. Now those hands that rebuilt him still pay reverence, letting one digit smoothly climb down the crack of his ass.

Dean bit the muscle between Cas’s neck and his shoulder. “What happened to  _ just _ touching me?”

Cas laughed, the spray of the water hitting his cheeks. He pressed the pad of his finger tip against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Dean hissed, a flush raced across his skin that had nothing to do with the heat of the water.

“We can do that, if you want.” Castiel’s voice held an air of nonchalance, but Dean knew him better than that. Cas wanted to ravage him where he stood, held back only in his desire to see Dean writhe before giving in.

“Though for the record, I would be extremely amiable to making you come tonight.”

“I’m sure you would,” Dean said, arching again as the digit probed further. “You know, I had something I was going to say to you, but you’re making it hard.”

“That was my intention.”

Castiel moved his hands away, looking down where they were both beginning to become aroused. He looked up again and met Dean’s eyes, his lashes sprinkled with water. “You are more likely to say what’s on your mind if you’re drunk or amorous. I was only trying to assist.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but it was a lost cause. He kissed him instead, tasting the shower water on his lips.  

“How do you know you’re going to like what I have to say?”

Castiel leaned forward and bit Dean’s bottom lip. “I doubt you would have suggested I shower with you if it wasn’t something pleasant.”

“Maybe I’ll just skip it and blow you instead.”

Blue irises disappeared to a sliver behind black pupils. To show how serious he was, Dean dropped to his knees, hitting porcelain and grabbing hips. He took the tip between his lips, suckling and licking swiftly, gently. Looking up through lashes as the water splashed against olive skin. Watching how Castiel lost his sassy smirk as his mouth went slack, hands reaching out to grab at wet strands of hair.

“I’ve been thinking,” Dean began, finding it somewhat easier to speak to the dick right in front of him than the blue eyes boring a hole in his head. “I spent so many years believing that I couldn’t settle down. It was never because I didn’t think I could love someone that much.” Gingerly he took the head into his mouth again, letting his tongue circle before letting go. “I thought I’d have to give all this up - the hunting. And knew I would never be able to do it - I’d end up hurting whoever I settled down with.”

Castiel hummed a moan, pushing his hips forward. “I’d never want you to- ugnnn”

Dean’s mouth was temporarily occupied again, but he mumbled a fast “I wasn’t done” between his ministrations.

A few minutes later, he continued. “Look, what I’m trying to say here is - this life with you, on the road, hunting - this is my apple pie life. This is all I never knew I needed.”

Cas was quiet above him, and Dean thought about sucking him off again, just to skip through the moment of self induced sappy. But then there were strong hands on his arms, and he was pulled to his feet where Castiel was looking at him in that painful way. Where he looks like he doesn’t know what to do with all of the feelings he’s experiencing, and frowns in concentration.

“You deserve even more than this, Dean,” Castiel said. “But this is all I know how to give.”

“It’s really all I ever wanted,” Dean replied with a shrug, like he wasn’t pulling some emotional muscle to say it. He circled his arms around Castiel’s waist. “So - thank you. That’s it. That’s my big damn speech.”

Castiel’s expression softened, his eyes crinkling on the sides. It was so easy to read the affection on his face, and Dean was getting better at meeting his eye when he looked like that, instead of turning away as if the sunshine burned him. They kissed again, soft and gentle, and the water in the reasonably priced hotel began to turn lukewarm against their skin.

Crawling naked under the covers of the now warm room, Dean made a move to switch off the light but thought better of it as he watched Castiel move in beside him. They’d had so many late nights, countless rendezvous in the dark. He wanted to see Cas for this. Watch the expression in his eyes clearly as he fell apart underneath Dean’s hands.

But he should have known better - because it was  _ him  _ that slowly fell apart, as Castiel moved across his body, kissing the crevices he’d washed so lovingly, as if his mouth completed the ritual of his devotion. He could only hang to soft sheets as the angel went lower, reciprocating Dean’s earlier favor. Then lower still, as he moved to open him up with his tongue and deft fingers.

“Cas -  _ Cas _ ,” he repeated like a benediction.

“I love doing this to you,” Castiel whispered between Dean’s thighs. And Dean loved Castiel there, worshiping him in places he’d never exposed to anyone. It made sense that the angel seemed to know all of his little buttons, pushing them gently but relentlessly until Dean turned boneless.

When Castiel finally moved within him, Dean found his voice again. Which was for the best, as talking through sex kept him too distracted to come quickly, but drove his angel absolutely wild with lust.

“Yeah babe, right there,” he keened as he arched his back, the stretch deliciously straddling that line between pleasure and pain. Castiel’s eyebrows drew in concentration, pushing into Dean shallowly.

“Touch me, Cas,” Dean breathed. “I need….your hands... _ please _ …”

The angel’s pupils blew wide and he obeyed, stroking in turn with the thrusts. He went deeper and Dean yelped, reaching behind to grip Castiel tighter to him. The heat began to coil at the base of his spine - this was going to be over too quickly.  _ Keep talking - keep talking _ -

“Ugh, God. Feels so good.  _ Yes. _ ” he said. “Love this, Cas. Love this-”

“Love you.”

Dean’s head which had been thrown back, snapped forward again to meet Castiel’s eye. For his part the angel slowed but didn’t stop, still thrusting as he looked down, gauging a reaction. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t each figured that’s how the other one felt - their profound bond, the sacrifices they’d made for each other over the years, after all of the dreams, and God, the amazing sex - clearly they loved each other. They just hadn’t exactly gotten around to saying it.

Dean tried to sound emblazoned as he replied, but it came out broken as Cas hit his prostate.

“Love you too.”

As if the words served as a cannonball breaking down some invisible barrier, the sex turned from deliciously slow to heated and fast. They kissed and grabbed at each other’s skin like they were starving for it. Cas reached the point first, undoubtedly spurned by Dean’s repetition of those freshly uncovered words directly into the hollow of his ear. He shuddered within Dean, losing his pace in the afterglow and breathing hotly against his neck. Dean took himself in hand, concentrating on the lips at his jugular and the slowly softening stiffness still buried within him. Before long he followed, his angel coming to his senses just enough to wrap his arms tightly around Dean whist he convulsed and gasped into damp dark hair.

Dean didn’t fight the overwhelming feeling of safety and love that washed over him in the aftermath, pressing soft kisses and letting his fingers dance softly against heated skin.

“I wanted to say it - in the real world,” Castiel whispered. “Not just in that horrible dream.”

The reminder of the dream in the hospital made Dean pull away, suddenly desperate to scrub the harrowing images that sprang to mind. Castiel looked debauched, his lips puffy and red and his face flush - and he’d never looked better.

Dean kissed the tip of Castiel's nose. “Still - as much as I hate to say it - those dreams were the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Dean Winchester, admitting that something bad in his life led to good things?” Castiel said, a smirk pulling at his wide lips. “Becky and Marie would say that’s great character development.”

“Whatever that means…” Dean winked. But he knew what it meant, and as he bent to kiss those lips again, he sent another silent thanks to their cosmic matchmaker and his two unknowing accomplices.

That night Dean dreamt of driving his Baby along a calm stretch of highway, his angel smiling at his side, an orange sunset ahead.

It was a fiction he couldn’t wait to make real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all! Please let me know what you thought of the story!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will be updated weekly - please let me know what you think!


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